


Man’s Best Friend

by Strawberry_Sweetheart



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Familiars, Fantasy AU, M/M, Panic Attacks, Run On Sentences, Slow Burn, Soulmates, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Steve is way too chill about the wrong things, Steve’s absent parents, Steve’s stoner mind, Witchcraft, Witches, shifting, soft Billy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2020-10-01 19:17:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20377264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strawberry_Sweetheart/pseuds/Strawberry_Sweetheart
Summary: Steve was having one of those days (you know the ones where life is like, fuck you kid, and shoves your face into the toilet to give you a swirly and you kinda just let it happen cuz you’re kinda just used to it at this point).Steve is apparently Billy’s familiar and can’t transform back until he finds out that the tiny dog he’s now fond of is indeed Steve Harrington.And that’s gonna be a problem when Billy doesn’t even know he’s a witch, or even know that they exist.——Or: Billy is a clueless witch; Steve is his familiar.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Let me tell ya, if you’re a hardcore grammar Nazi then you’re gonna have a bad time. Cuz Steve’s mind is just a huge accumulation of run on sentences. So, yeah, you might read this and be like, “hey, author, I don’t think you used that word correctly and abused your right of commas.” But this is mostly Steve’s pov and we all know Steve is a lil dopey (thank god you're pretty, Harrington) and I want that reflected in the way the story is told. Also I write sleep deprived and have no beta; this is just for fun so don’t expect a new york best seller. 
> 
> Anyways, enjoy the shit show, kid. And Comment if you’ve want the story to continue 'cuz I tend to abandon ship if I think people aren’t gonna read it.  
XOXO

“You know those days where you’re like, this might as well happen?” —John Mulaney

Steve can’t say that he completely does _not_ know what’s going on. Because he vaguely does sort-of know what’s going on. Vaguely.

Now don’t get him wrong— he’s confused as shit because this wasn’t exactly what he was preparing for. And ‘preparing’ should be taken loosely, more like, ‘expecting and should be studying up on it but chose not to due to [insert excuse here]’.

Because the Harrington’s come from a long line of respected and powerful witches and familiars. And everyone in the supernatural community _knows_ that when the men in the family come of age, they present as witches. And that the women of the family are always familiars and always first transform when their destined witch counterpart comes of age. That is not to say men can’t be familiars and women can’t be witches, obviously, but in the Harrington family that’s just how it’s _always_ been. No one knows why this is despite the fact that the majority of witches _are_ women. It’s just a widely known and accepted fact that this is a unique family quirk.

Which leaves Steve, sitting in front of the sliding glass doors of his backyard, his front paws (god, _paws_ because this is where his life has lead him to now) anxiously moving up off the ground and then back down repeatedly in a little dance as he stares past the reflection of a dog no taller than his neighbor’s creepy garden gnomes, and instead into the light spilling from the kitchen.

And he’s about, like, seconds away from crying because he can’t reach the door handle, and has like, no opposable thumbs now anyways to open the damn door even if he could reach it.

And he knows he must be losing his shit because despite the fact the reflection staring back at him is a _dog_, that it appears he’s currently a fucking dog, he’s more concerned with the pizza bites he had only just put in the microwave minutes before and he could hear it beeping inside calling him to the kitchen and this whole fucked up situation would be way easier to swallow if he could just have his stupid pizza bites that he’s been looking forward to _all_ day while at work.

Inside the beeping stops.

Steve refuses to acknowledge the long high pitched sound that comes from his throat as a whine.

In a moment of pathetic self pity and acceptance, Steve lays his head on his front paws and tries to process what’s happened in the last 10 minutes.

‘Okay,’ he thought, mentally working through what just happened, trying to ground himself to reality again, ‘Plant your feet, Harrington.’ The little voice in his head sounds suspiciously like Billy.

Alright. So. He had come home late from his work at the movie rental. He had changed into his pajamas. He had decided on having like, a whole box off pizza bites for dinner. Steve licks around his mouth a few times, lamenting his dinner. Because it does counts as dinner despite Dustin always getting on his ass yelling about how, "microwaveable snacks aren’t dinner, Steve!" Which is bullshit considering no one gives El shit about her Eggos even though he's sure she eats those as dinner on most days.

He mentally shakes himself off his tangent. ‘Plant your feet," he reminds himself again in an attempt to focus.

He had come outside in a rare occasion to smoke while waiting for his dinner to be ready. He doesn’t usually smoke, but he could feel some type of buzz resting below his skin all day. It had made him spacey at work, had gotten him reprimanded for staring off into space while attending a customer, and was probably the cause of why he kept messing up little things that had become routine and familiar since he first started working there. It was as if he was forgetting something. Had him questioning, ‘Did I leave the oven on?’ Ridiculous. He’s never even used the oven.

So, a smoke. Something to ease that strange buzz in his blood and maybe lift the fog from his mind. It had worked for a bit, for a few precious seconds he had felt settled. Almost euphoric. Like something was finally sliding into place that he never even knew was out of place to begin with. It was a feeling of absolute content and rightness. Like coming Home.

And in that moment he let his eyes fall closed to bask in it, whatever _it_ was, letting it spread throughout his body completely. He rolled his neck and shoulders as his muscles relaxed... as he accepted it. His scalp had tingled and it drifted down his spine and spread out towards his arms in goose bumps, raising the hairs there, and following onward towards the tips of his fingers. It had pooled in his abdomen in an intense warmth, not a heat of arousal, but more an easy light feeling when you look at someone and realizes that you truly love that person and you feel that adoration fill you up. Finally, it reached his bare feet and he had rocked back on his heels, curling his toes in.

When he opened his eyes he saw that the ground had become much closer, a dying cigarette a few inches away. Saw fury little paws inches away from his face. And he had thought, ‘this is the part where I full out panic.’ Yet, it seemed he couldn’t. Like his mind was still in a lovely haze and his muscles, now very tiny, were still dozing in a relaxed state he couldn’t seem to shake off. Honestly, he felt pleasantly high.

And then the sound of a beeping microwave had caught his ears and he turned to face dog staring back at him as his reflection.

His stomach growled and Steve was reminded just how hungry he was. How he hadn’t eaten anything all day. How he was currently stuck as a dog and — could dogs even eat pizza rolls? Or do those rules not apply to him. Like, can he get away with eating chocolate or would he suffer the consequences like any other dog? And if he did have to adhere to the consequences would they apply to Human Steve too now — whenever he managed to transform back to Human Steve, that is.

God, his dad had always told him to study about this shit, but when nothing had happened throughout his childhood and adolescent years, like random bursts of magic that were bound to happen before witches came of age, he just figured he was the first dud in the family. The first regular non-gifted human in the Harrington legacy and boy did that surely help his self esteem. Another way to completely let down his parents.

Except...

Looking at himself now, he guessed ‘dud’ wasn’t exactly the right word since he was pretty sure this means that he’s a familiar. Like. 99 percent sure. He was reserving that one percent in case he woke up in bed the next morning going, ‘wow, that sure was a crazy dream’ before continuing on his life as normal. But somehow he doubted that would be the case.

He racked his brain on his limited knowledge of witches and even more limited knowledge of familiars that he had accumulated.

Witches, he remembered, inherited their powers when on their 18th birthday, at the exact time of their birth. And when that happened, their familiar (guide and soulmate hand-selected by the strange powers of the universe) would take the form of an animal that reflected the soul of said familiar.

‘Which means,’ Steve thought, ‘that 18 years ago at this exact time... my soulmate was born.’ And holy shit! He had a Soulmate. Yeah, you bet your ass he was capitalizing that. Because he had a _Soulmate_ that belonged to him and that he belonged to whoever the hell they were. He felt that pleasant feeling in his stomach again, the one that felt like happiness.

For the first time in quite a long time, Steve Harrington did not feel so alone.

He got up to his feet — no. That’s not right now is it?

He got up on his paws feeling how weird the cold concrete felt on the pads of his paws. Experimentally, he took a few steps expecting his balance or something to be off, expecting to feel like Bambi skittering and stumbling on ice.

Instead...it felt natural.

Like walking on two legs. Like he’s been doing this all his life. There was no need to adjust to his new form because it, strangely, didn’t feel foreign at all. This form felt like _his_. Completely and totally. The tiny chocolate colored furry thing that in the glass door was as much him as the tall lanky teen in the bathroom mirror he saw every morning. And magic must play a part in that for it to feel so right.

The hazy feeling was beginning to fade, much to his disappointment, and he looks past the currently empty pool and into the woods. He was becoming aware of just how hungry he was. Starving compared to how he felt just meer minutes before. And like, Steve knew what he had to do, what was more important than abandoned pizza bites right now. His job now, he knows, is to find his witch. Knows from what his mother had told him, from what he’s picked up on in just being born into the world of the supernatural, that a familiar’s first transformation is one they’re stuck in without being able to transform back until they find their witch. And when they find their witch, the witch will have to identify and acknowledge who exactly their familiar is. Once the witch claims them as their own, they’ll be able to transform back.

This shouldn’t be too hard because they’re here in Hawkins, whoever ‘they’ are. Because when a witch comes of age the universe always aligns in a way that sets witch and familiar in very close proximity to one another. And Hawkins is small so that narrows it down easy. So, Steve pretty much thinks this is gonna be a piece of cake. He yawns wide and stretches into a downward dog position, silently amused at his own pun, before stretching his left back leg out. Usually, from meet-up stories he’s heard over the years, the whole process takes about one to two business days. Mostly because it’s common that witches and familiars already know each other, predisposed to gravitate towards one another.

Steve mentality runs through the list of people he’s close to. And then people he’s like somewhat familiar with. And then just acquaintances. And he feels himself become more and more frustrated ‘cuz like, no one seems to fit. Half the people he’s close to aren't 18, so that eliminates The Party out. Nancy’s and Jonathan’s birthdays have passed and apart from that, they found out that belong to each other.

Whoever his Soulmate is it’s not someone he knows, which is fine because that happens too even though it’s like rare not to be at least acquainted but whatever right? I mean, nothing is never simple when it comes to his life. Why had he expected this to be any different because everything always has to be a whole ordeal with him, didn’t it?

His stomach growls again, breaking him out of thoughts and he starts prancing towards the woods like some kind of idiot, long fur bouncing along as he leaps over twigs and branches. He knows this is an idiot move because he’d have more luck finding something to eat or even finding his witch by walking towards town instead. Yet, despite knowing this, he can’t help but continue on into the woods, feeling like he knows where he’s going even though he _knows_ he most certainly does not. He can’t help being pulled by something, like he’s on a leash and someone on the other end is tugging at it. Calling him, _come here, boy_, so he comes when called as if he’s been trained to do so.

Besides, the last few years have been a whirlwind of one weird ass situation after the next. He’s mentally adapted enough to just go with the flow at this point and that flow is leading him deeper and deeper in...


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is one monster of chapter. dont get used to chapters being this long because college is gonna own my soul again soon. I know these first chapters have been slow, but in still trying to build the foundation of the story. pls bare with me.  
read end notes for an explanation on why i chose the breed for steve.

The woods are dangerous, he _knows_ that. They seem endless with their high reaching branches and thick foliage that create shadows where _things_ can hide in. Where things have hid in. And now? Everything seems more endless and infinite than ever before. But that’s okay because Steve feels that way about himself and about this _pull_. Something that’s infinite and more than anything that exists in these woods.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been sprinting but knows it’s long enough that he should feel like his legs are falling. Yet. He feels like he can run forever if it takes Forever to get where he needs to be... wherever that is. Steve no longer recognizes where he is, had long lost track of paths and trails, collecting dirt and twigs in the fur of his legs and ears. Considering that he doesn’t know where he is, he should feel lost, overwhelmingly so, but finds that he doesn’t.

He doesn’t know where he is, or where he’s going to end up, but he knows where he’s heading— towards his soulmate.

Ahead, he makes out a clearing, where the moon’s light illuminates and chases away the shadows created by the pines that made him so uneasy in the woods. He heads straight for it, picks up speed as he can feel it now, again — that Coming Home feeling. It’s like waking up Christmas morning and running straight for the presents, filled with fireplace warmth and childish joy. It’s like finding that one thing you lost and had given up hope of ever finding. And isn’t that what this is? Steve finding something he lost long ago. Something that tastes suspiciously like hope itself.

His heart is beating against his ribs, painfully so. He doesn’t know if that’s his own excitement that makes him feel breathless, wanting to feel complete knowing what he’s running towards — finding out who he’s running towards. Running to the promise of what they can be to each other, the promise of what they can be together.

Steve slows to a walk as he emerges from the line of trees, his figure so small next to the towering pines, legs straining and lungs burning from that special brand of Hawkins’ chill, and he takes in his surroundings.

He’s at the quarry.

And he’s alone.

And there is no one here. ‘Yet.’ But he can wait. He’s used to waiting. Has been waiting even if he was clueless about everything happening now ever taking place at all.

He waits for a few minutes, occasionally wetting his nose with his tongue to stop the cold from irritating it, looking past the quarry and back into the trees. He waits for a few more and feels his eyes water; he tells himself the sting is from the cold. And Steve has never been good at keeping a mental clock. Minutes for him fly by like seconds during a timed test . Seconds droll on and stretch to become hours when he’s waiting for the pizza man to arrive. And Hours, he swears, turn to years at the DMV.

But Steve knows that like, a lot of time has passed. A lot. Knows it by the moon’s changing position from where it hangs in the sky, now higher than it was when he got here. Knows it in the ache that is now definitely setting into his legs and the cold finally bypassing his coat of fur, the familiarity of doubt creeping in along with it. He’s shivering. And Steve’s not being dramatic, he’s not. And he just feels so tired . ‘Great,’ he thinks, ‘perfect’. One big cosmic joke after the next. He lays on his side, whining at the hurt he feels. The hurt of his overworked muscles and lungs. The hurt that comes with _bullshit_ romances and sleeping in empty houses.

There’s a tingling in his throat now, and his chest becomes tight, hugging his heart close. Life, Steve has noticed, likes to taunt him. It dangles a pretty treat over his head, perfect and delicious and within a seemingly achievable distance, but when goes to reach for it, Life pulls is back far enough that he can’t quite grasp it; it slips teasingly past his fingers. And Steve tries again. And Life yanks it back. Again and again and again because Steve never seems to learn.

It had dangled his parents promises of coming home for his birthday. It had dangled Nancy’s love, and for a moment he thought he had it firmly in his hands, but that too slipped from his grasp no matter how desperately tight he clung to it. It now dangles the prospect of happiness that comes from being able to create a bond between witch and familiar, one that promises acceptance and love and support and all these happy little things that he’s never been able to keep for himself.

With every passing minute it seems further and further away. Steve entertains the idea of his soulmate never showing up.

His pity party is cut short at the sound of a low rumbling. Mind snapping out of his current thoughts, he feels a new rush of adrenaline through his blood, making him hyper aware of his surroundings. Ears perk up, twitching. Listening. Listening to it get closer. He tries to stand and stumbles back onto his side. His legs are unable to support his weight any longer so he lets himself lay _very_ still. His mind is working a million a minute. Thinking that maybe there are monsters still in the woods. Thinking maybe he’s about to get eaten because he’s suddenly really fucking aware of how small he is and how he may have sharper teeth but like, let’s be real, how much damage could they _really_ do. It’d be like inflicting papercuts compared to what _those things_ could do. Not that he’s not going to try. Cuz he’s gonna go down swinging. That’s right. As soon as he gets his legs to work with him he’s gonna give them hell.

The rumbling sounds like it’s a few feet away and Steve notices light flood into his vision, brighter and more yellow than the moonlight. ‘A car,’ his mind supplies. His soulmates car? He can’t stop his tail from wagging and hitting the ground repeatedly, knows it’s probably going to end up matted with dirt, but the anxiousness that hums through him is too much to contain in this small form. He manages to roll onto his other side, facing the car that has pulled up. The lights are too bright and blinding for his eyes to make out the car itself, can just see the silhouette of it as it’s purring engine comes to a halt. The lights remain on. And someone steps out from the driver’s seat. Bulky boots kicking up dirt.

The aggressive slamming of the closing door makes him flinch. He should be afraid, or at least wary, because whoever this person is they carry themselves like anger is shaking their bolts loose, like anger is making them come apart. The adrenaline has left and he whines, high and loud because he can’t exactly shout, ‘Hey! Look at me! I’m down here!’. His tail is working double time and his body is now shaking as the person leans down with a quietly muttered "what the fuck?". A man. His witch is a man with a deep voice that sounds unnaturally hoarse like he’s been screaming or yelling. He knows the feeling. Steve’s voice had been completely shot once when he and Tommy went to a concert and they had spent like, the entire time yelling at the top of their lungs with their cracky prepubescent cords. He smells him before he sees him. It a heavy scent, a familiar one that he can’t quite place his finger on, one of musk and sea salt and warmth, but it’s tinged with something metallic, something like iron. Something that doesn’t belong. He hears him exhale, his breath a visible cloud. Feels the mood shift from something dangerous to — 

His heart must stop because he feels like he’s going to die when the man’s face gets close enough to be illuminated by the light. Blond curls frame his face, glowing slightly from the headlights that surround him in a halo. Angelic, almost, had it not been for defined lips split and swelling and caked with drying blood. His short nose is red and irritated at the tip to match red watery eyes that hold blue-blue irises so familiar. Billy Hargrove blue. ‘I left perfectly good pizza bites for this shit?’ There is a look of confusion on his face, and if Steve was still human he’s sure he’d have one to match cuz like, what the fuck is going on. They don’t move for a while, eyes locked on each other, just staring as if trying to make sense of this whole fuckery because apparently Billy Hargrove is a witch, Steve’s witch. He must be because there is no one else here and Steve has waited for a really long time to know that it’s not likely that there will be someone else that pulls up to the quarry. Billy moves his hand towards him. Steve yelps and tries to throw himself backwards. ‘Absolutely not, asshole.’

"Woah — hey, it’s okay. You’re fine, buddy, you’re fine. Not gonna hurt ya." Billy hushes and coos at him like he’s some sort of — some sort of — like, frightened animal or something. And like, yeah, you know what? Fair enough! Because Steve is currently frightened and currently an animal, so hindsight is 20/20 Hargrove. You win this round. And Steve doesn’t make it too far because he’s hungry and tired: emotionally and physically. Steve thinks that if Hargrove decides to fling him into the quarry, he’s just going to let him. That’s the level of ‘done with this bullshit’ he’s at right now. So he lets himself fall back limp, thinks, ‘please god, just make it quick’ while he screws his eyes shut and— _no_, he’s not being dramatic because Billy Hargrove is a fucking psychopath. Had bruises and witnesses that could serve in a compelling court case just to prove he’s right. He’s pretty sure that Billy’s first instinct when he sees a puppy is to kick it. Yeah, he’s _that_ guy.

Except he doesn’t? And Steve’s like, confused? Dumbfounded. Billy has seem to take Steve’s relaxed form as a green light to get closer again and scratches behind his ear, which, no, that’s not what Steve was trying to communicate. This is a no consent situation and he briefly thinks about turning and bitting his fingers but, fuck. Steve gets it now. This feels so good like he’s floating on cloud nine right now. Dogs have it so easy, man. He spares Billy’s fingers this one time.

"What’re doin’ out here, buddy, huh?" He moves to sit with his legs crossed, switching his petting from one ear to the next.

‘Decided to go out death by hypothermia, asshole. What do you think I’m doing here?’ Billy, of course, does not respond to Steve’s inner dialogue of sarcasm.

"You lost? You’ve got no collar..." he mutters to himself more than to Steve. And Steve is working through his blissful petting induced haze because—?

Steve might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but even he didn’t take long to put two and two together.

‘Not lost, Hargrove. I’m your familiar you dipshit. You see any other wandering animals around here? Figure it out Einstein.’

Steve, at this point, starts to shiver violently. It’s cold as shit and he’s not exactly Billy’s number one fan (a sophomore named Stephanie has a rightful ownership of that title), but he’s cold and Billy’s warm. He presses into Billy’s leg trying to leech off his warmth because, Hawkins, but the ground below him is now getting further away and there is a firm hand under his chest and stomach hauling him up. He yelps and whips around to stare at Billy’s face. He’s kinda pissed at being man-handled, but then he’s pressed close to Billy’s chest and they’re walking back to the Camaro. Billy is turning on the engine again and messing with the knobs and dials and _Hello heater_. He looks up at Billy who’s looking down at him with a soft and adoring expression so forgien on his face that Steve can practically see Billy’s face muscles are confused as he is. And maybe, he thinks, Billy has finally figured it out. Except. 

Billy looks confused now.

"You’ve gotten kinda muddy, but you don’t look like a stray."

Or not.

_’Jesus fucking Christ, Hargrove.’_

"You kinda look like a Spaniel."

And now it’s Steve’s turn to be confused because what the hell is a Spaniel? Is it a name? Who’d name a dog Spaniel? And Steve is _not_ a stray, thank-you-very much. He’s a people.

The car has started to warm up again and so has Steve. He’s warm enough now to think a bit more clearly and apparently so is Billy because he’s stopped his petting and lets out a sigh with a muttered, "Now what?". Now what, indeed. He looks down at Steve like Steve is just gonna open his mouth and let a jumble of human words come out and he wishes he could just to speed things along, say “I’m your familiar”, but he can’t. He feels a sudden spike of panic because oh god what if this dumbass decides to take him to a shelter.

And that cannot happen. No way. Billy hasn’t thrown him into the quarry yet, hasn’t exhibited any deranged behavior, so that must mean he’s at least a dog person, right? If he’s a dog person then he must have a soft spot for _cute_ dogs. And Steve can be cute. Steve knows he’s cute. He’s always been told he’s cute. When Steve Harrington used to walk down the halls of his high school you know what he heard? That’s right; he’d hear girls gushing about how cute they thought he was. He can be cute. Cute enough to keep out of a shelter that’s for sure. So he puts on his best puppy eyes (pun fully intended), swallows his dignity, and proceeds to lick Billy’s chin. It doesn’t feel as weird as he thought it should (concerning), but that might just the dog part of his brain taking over. The smallest of smiles graces Billy’s lips as he let out a quiet chuckle.

"Don’t worry, buddy, I’m not gonna take you to a shelter. I’m pretty sure you’re some housewife’s pampered pooch, aren’t ya?. Probably got fed gourmet meals, huh? You’d never make it slammin’ it in a shelter." It’s like he’s read his mind and Steve wishes he could actually because that would solve all his problems. 

Steve catches the scent of something mouthwatering. It smells like grease and beef and cheese. He follows his nose out of Hargrove’s arms and over to the passenger side where he spots a brown paper bag with grease stains laying on the floor and he hops down to immediately stick his head in the bag. He doesn’t know how long it’s been here, but it smells good so it can’t have been too long, right? Billy panics.

“Hey —,” he grabs Steve and pulls him back out of the bag, Steve pulls the leftover burger along with him between his teeth, “You can’t eat that, buddy.” And like hell he can’t. He’s hungry. Absolutely starving. And he’s not about to listen to Billy Hargrove of all people, soulmate or not. Billy grabs the burger and tugs gently, trying to coax him to let go. Steve clenches his jaw tighter. Billy speaks softly, an amused smile on his lips, “that’s been lying here all week and I’m not about to have you puking in my car after.” Steve lets the burger fall from his mouth. Gross. Billy laughs loudly, eyes crinkling at the edge. And then everything is moving fast — when had they slowed down? 

Billy buckles in the seatbelt before shifting gears and pulling out of the quarry with a roar of the engine. “Let’s go get you something to eat, flea bag. I skipped dinner anyways.” He speeds down the highway, fingers tapping the rhythm whatever song is currently playing on the radio, left hand on the stick shift, and Steve does his best to plant his paws in an attempt to stay on the seat as Billy takes sharp turns at fast speeds. 

Having Billy coo at him softly and smile at him in a non-shit-eating-grin kind of way had left Steve feeling a bit displaced and now with this sudden shift in Billy he’s seeing, well, it kind of gives him whiplash. Besides the familiar sight of a busted lip and red cheek from whatever fight Billy had recently involved himself in, the man he saw at the quarry was a complete stranger. He thought back to the man with the bloody nose and cruel expression with even crueler fists he encountered at the Byers that one eventful night. Compare that guy to the one at the quarry, and despite sharing the same face, they were nothing alike: night and day. He looks at the man in the driver’s seat now, and he thinks he can see night and day blend before him in a twilight. Something in between. He has that vulnerable expression from the quarry, not soft but open, showing all his cards instead of holding them close to his chest. He has a wide grin, all teeth and sharp confidence that he has come to associate with Billy Hargrove, seeping easy, almost thoughtless, charm. He looks dangerous with those muscles that strain beneath his shirt that aren’t just for show (Steve would know) and that bruised lip. He’s erratic. It shows in climbing speedometer, shows in the twitching fingers, shows in the way he bobs his head to screeching guitars and screeching tires. But there is softness there in his eyes that catches light from passing light poles that softens the edges a bit. 

Billy runs through a stop sign and if Steve were human his hands would be clutching the dashboard so hard he would leave dented imprints from his fingers. But he’s not so he tries his best to communicate how fucking insane Billy is. ‘Hello, precious cargo here, asshole!’ He barks. Billy turns his head to Steve and lets out a bellowing laugh, tilts his head back before he man handles Steve back onto his lap and eases off the gas a bit.

“Sorry lil guy, almost forgot I had an extra passenger.”

\--

They stop at a diner, one of those that keep late hours and host truck drivers mostly. It has a half working neon sign that blinks and flickers occasionally. Steve stands on his hindlegs finding it hard to keep his balance on cushioned seats and leans towards the windows. He can smell the fat from here. He’s pretty sure he’s drooling. Honestly, fuck pizza bites, he hopes Billy gets him a burger.

“Stay here, buddy. Piss on my seats and you’re roadkill, got it?” It sounds more like a plea than a threat.

‘Yeah yeah. I’m not an animal.’ Billy slams the door closed. ‘Not that you would know.’ 

He leaps back to the passenger seat with new found energy at the promise of a meal. He balances awkwardly once more on his hind legs to look out the windshield at Billy who’s leaning across the counter, sultry grin looking mildly painful with his busted lip. The waitress still looks to be eating it up. Steve rolls his eyes. 

So Steve is currently in Billy Hargrove’s car waiting to be wined and dined by the guy. He takes his time away from Billy to just… sort through this whole mess. Back when he was dating Nancy, he had told her how sometimes he could get overwhelmed. He told her how sometimes things could be too much if they happened too quickly, how it made it hard to catch his breath. He remembers what Nancy told him.

_When that happens try to ground yourself, take your time… It’s okay if you need to take your time and slow down compared to everything else that’s going on around you. You’ll be able to catch up. You won’t be left behind. I promise._

‘So what do I know?’ He asks himself.

He knows Billy Hargrove is a witch.  
He knows Billy Hargrove is his soulmate.  
He knows Billy Hargrove has no idea what’s going on. His obliviousness makes Steve envious. 

His soulmate is the same guy who almost killed him last year, so that’s a thing he’s going to have to figure. Billy seems different. Angry? Definitely. He’s still got a temper, saw it at the quarry when Billy first arrived. And what was Billy even doing at the quarry. Considering he seems to know absolutely nothing about anything, it’s possible that he had just follow the pull without knowing what it was. That isn’t too implausible. Billy is the type of guy to impulsively follow his instincts without stopping to ask questions first.

But Steve can’t seem to shake something off…

Steve had been running towards something (said something he now knows was Hargrove of all people). Billy instead, it had appeared, was running away from something. He thinks back to the metallic scent of drying blood and fresh bruises. Running from a fight? 

The waitress hands Billy a bag and two drinks in a cup holder, one large and one small. She runs her hand up his arm as he takes the bag. He says something to her that makes her flush before he’s heading out with a wink. 

Steve swallows back the possessiveness that climbed its way up from his stomach and rested heavy in his mouth. Because that ridiculous. He’s being ridiculous. He doesn’t even like Billy. Not really. He likes what he’s seeing, sure. But it’s hard to forget and forgive someone who could have killed him after just a few soft words and a smile. 

‘Could I love Billy? Could I see myself bonded to someone like Billy? No…’

The Billy that Steve knows is all harsh words and loud voices. He risks getting hurt from getting close to a person like that. That Billy could never find himself bonded to a familiar, able to put aside his selfish impulsivities, able to open up and maintain the strong connection that exists between familiar and witch without trying to bend and abuse it into whatever he wants. That Billy could use and destroy him in a greed for power. No, he could never love a man like that. But. The person he has seen tonight is not someone he knows. A stranger. He challenges everything Steve thought he once knew. _Do you see me, Harrington?_ Eyes that hold much more depth than he has ever noticed yell at him from inside this stranger driving Billy’s car. _Could you want to see me?_.

Steve could never love the Billy he knew, but he decides that he likes who he’s seen so far, likes the person that exists beneath thickened skin and slips through the cracks. The one with a reserved loneliness that craves company and a connection enough to have one sided conversations with a _dog_. Steve snorts. Yes, he decides, he wants to see that person, wants to get to know that stranger, wants to chip away at that armoured skin. He could see himself one day loving _that_ man. 

“Alright, bud. I didn’t know if a burger would be bad for you, so I got you a grilled chicken sandwich.” He takes out the wrapped sandwich in white paper. Steve sniffs it. It’s completely plain, a plain bun hugging plain grilled chicken breast. Steve takes everything he just said back and gives Billy, who’s slipping into the driver’s seat now, his best unimpressed look. 

“Don’t look at me like that, I doubt you could be able to stomach anything else in this place.” He unwraps it and lays it in front of Steve, opens the lid of the smaller drink and places it in the cup holder. “And this —,”Steve flinches when he dips his finger in the cup and flicks its contents at him “— water is for you.” 

Steve eats only the chicken, leaving the buns, and occasionally manages to guilt trip Billy through a kicked puppy act into giving him small pieces of beef patty that he happily scarfs down. They finish fairly quickly. Satisfied and content, Billy stretches his arms up, and yawns. Besides him Steve yawns as well, laying on the seat.

“Panza llena y corazón contento . Right, amigo?” 

And Steve doesn’t know what that means but he can’t help but agree. 

\-----------------------

Billy looks down at the dozing dog, ‘Cavalier King Charles Spaniel’ his mind supplied (he’s always been a dog person, making it his business to know all about the different breeds) in his passenger seat as he makes his way back to the quarry. He can’t go back home, not to that lion’s den, not tonight. 

Doesn’t want to go back to a ruined kitchen sink with its burst pipes that had sprouted water continuously. Neil wanted to have dinner with the family for Billy’s 18th birthday, probably wanted to play Happy Family for Susan. There had been a tension that lingered in the air all day. It clung to the walls of the house, thick in everyone’s lungs, suffocatingly so. Susan seemed to curl up into herself, ducking her eyes and trying to move quietly, afraid of making noise. Once it had pissed him off, but Billy has grown, has learned that it is her own way to avoid setting off his dad. Billy had his ‘Yes, Sir’s and Susan had her meekness. Who was he to judge someone for their own sense of self preservation? Max had drifted closer the walls to any room she stepped in, occasionally catching his eye, clear that they were both waiting. They didn’t speak much anymore, not since he almost took a bat of nails to the groin, but there was an understanding there that hadn’t existed before. An odd feeling of mending was present, mending their relationship back with crude stitches, withered and tattered compared to what it had been in California, something that was not yet forgiveness but trying. 

They had made it through a silent dinner, the sounds of forks and knives on china plates deafening loud, winding up something in the pit of his stomach. Susan and Max had given up on trying to ease the mood with conversation not long after they said their grace. Max had set the table, Susan had cooked dinner, and that left Billy in charge of washing the dishes before retiring for the night. He was finishing up on the last couple of plates when his dad had come in, silently moving without a word. He didn’t turn to see him come in, but heard a chair’s legs scratch on the tile as it was pulled out. He felt something electric in the air.

“You’re an adult now, son.” Billy didn’t reply. He knew he should, but his voice was stuck in his throat. He swallowed instead. 

Billy heard his father stand, shoes thumbing with his weight as he strolled up to Billy in a leisurely pace, a lion creeping up to its prey. He turned off the faucet and planted his feet, he wondered when moments like these had become so routine. 

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, boy.” He turned to look his father in the eyes, jaw clenched. 

“Boy? I thought I was an adult?” The hard shove to his chest was expected and he grounded himself by clutching the counter. 

“I clothed and fed you when your own mother abandoned you. You will _respect_ me, understood? Now, you watch that smart mouth and listen to me. You have until the end of your senior year and then you’re out of the house. My responsibility towards you is over. You’re a man now. You can take care of yourself.”

“Dad, you can’t do that-” It wasn’t that he wanted to stay in this shit hole, but he thought he’d have enough time to collect his bearings before being thrown to the wind. His mistake was reaching out to grab his father’s arm to stop him from walking away. 

The rest played out like an old tape. Yelling and pushing and fists. In a particularly hard hit Billy had reached back, hard enough to knock loose the faucet pipe. Must have even though he didn’t remember hitting it or being strong enough to knock it loose, but his skin felt like it was crawling with electricity, mind buzzing and ears filled with static, vision flashing white, probably from the punch he took to his head earlier. He hadn’t been paying much attention to what his hands were doing. 

Water spout from the sink like a running hose, pooling on the counter and dripping onto the floor in a puddle before Neil had shouted at Max to turn off the main water valve outside. It took a minute until the water had stopped, a displaced scent of salt breeze in the air, neither had moved from their places. There was something off about the way his dad had looked at him. His gaze was as unmoving as ever, but there was an uncertainty there that he had never seen before. Then it shifted again into another.

“Get out.”

And Billy had got. The way his dad looked at him before he left imprinted in his mind. 

He pulls up into the quarry. There must be only a few hours left of night, but he needed some shut eye. He’s slept in his car before, had a couple of blankets in the trunk for the especially cold ones. He laid in the back seat, cramped, but with a tiny patch of warmth on his chest where the tiny lap dog laid on, listening to Billy ramble about anything and everything. Sometimes it was nice having an ear that will listen without judgment, even if that ear didn’t really understand what he was saying. He lifted his head a bit, staring at the chestnut and white dog. He had floppy ears and medium length fur, white and spotted with a chestnut brown, that was slightly dirtied. Sleepy large warm brown eyes stared back at him, holding a type of intelligence behind them that he couldn’t say he’s ever seen present in other dogs. It felt like his gaze could see his soul or something, like he _could_ understand. The thought was simultaneously comforting and unsettling.

“Let’s get some shut eye,” he laid his head back on a makeshift pillow of his bundled coat, “We’ll find out where you came from tomorrow.”

He fell asleep, the memory of the way his dad was looking at him before he left burning behind his eyes.

Looking at him like he's the devil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Panza llena y corazón contento- full stomach, happy heart
> 
> Meet Steve:
> 
> link
> 
> link
> 
> The Cavalier King Charles are known for their large round expressive eyes and affectionate nature. They are highly adaptable to people and places around them which i think suits steve (given how throughout the show he adapts to changing situations and people). They can be couch potatoes or active dogs (due to their hunting instincts) depending on the life style of their owner. I think an affectionate loving breed would be great paired with Billy cuz,,, Billy needs a hug, man. Give the man some love. 
> 
> I headcanon Billy from being form the same place in california as i am, which has a large population of Hispanic and Latino residents. So it makes sense for Billy to have picked up some spanish. Also yeah its for my own personal enjoyment .


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is anyone still reading this? I hope you’re yall still on board Ik it’s been almost a week since my last update but I’m hoping the last chapter was long enough to sustain all while finished this one.
> 
> Not my best writing but I hope you like it!

What arose Steve in the morning was the scent of ocean salt and rain, luring him awake. His fur was standing on end, like someone had thought it was funny to rub a balloon on him. The air was filled with static and the oddity of it finally made Steve opened his eyes and look out the windows, expecting to see thunder clouds heavy with the promise of a storm. Instead, what he saw was the morning dew drops on the car glittering with the reflection of the soft morning light as they drifted off the car and up into the atmosphere, hovering. ‘Okay, that’s a thing, I guess.’ He looked back at Billy, bundled in blankets, bruises now perfectly ripe. His face wasn’t one of peaceful sleep; his brows were furrowed and his eyes moving quickly behind lids, making his lashes flutter. There was an indecipherable mumbling spilling from his lips. A nightmare? Whatever it was, it was making his powers manifest in his sleep, something he knew was rare but not unheard of. 

He crept up from Billy’s legs to stand on his chest, placing his paw on his lips to stop his incoherent babbling, ‘Wake up, asshole.’ The water droplets that had been hovering outside suddenly all came down to earth, pelting the car in a swift shower, Billy’s eyes snapped open (which... creepy). He looked to be confusedly gathering his barings, staring at him tense and unmoving. ‘Your freaky water powers woke me up.’ Billy rolled his eyes, groaning in an exasperated way as if he was already annoyed by his presence after only spending a few hours together. ‘Tough shit, sweetheart. The universe decided to stick you with me for the rest of our lives: ‘till death do we part, honey bun,` Steve thought, growling when fell from Billy’s chest to his lap when he sat up suddenly. Rude.

“Wha’ time ‘s it?” It came out all slurred, tongue heavy from sleep. It’s important to note how ridiculous he looked like in the morning, Steve found it amusing (and kind of cute) and almost worth this whole nightmare. His blond locks smushed to the side of his face, the rest sticking up every which way. He turned his head to look out the windshield, Steve snorted. There was a long imprint of a zipper on the side of his face from his jacket-turned-pillow. ‘You look like an idiot,’ Steve yawned, ‘wish I had a camera.’ Perfect blackmail material. Missed opportunities. 

“Shit!” Billy flung the blankets off him causing Steve to be enveloped in sudden darkness under the blankets. ‘You absolute fuck!’ by the time Steve managed to dig his way out, Billy was once again igniting the engine and running his hand through his hair, making it worse, and speeding out of the quarry with a screech of the tires. ‘Here we again,’ Steve thought, having learned from his previous car ride experience that it was best to keep his body low lest he gets flinged into the side of the car on a particularly hard turn. “Shit. Shit!” Billy banged the steering wheel with his hand before reaching to shift gears. He looked at his rear view mirror and Steve locked eyes with him. ‘Not a morning person, Hargrove?’ He had this look on his face like he was having trouble deciding something. Steve was _very_ familiar with that face because it was the same face Dustin wore when he took him to get milkshakes and looked at the menu, taking _forever_ to decide on a flavor even though there were only three flavors and he _always_ chose vanilla. Billy purses his lips before flicking his gaze back on the road and straightens out the wheel since the car had been drifting towards the other lane. Steven briefly wondered if Billy was deciding whether or not to leave him stranded on the road, but… Steve shook the thought out of his head. Billy wouldn’t do that. ‘Because I’m suddenly such a Billy Hargrove expert.’ Steve rolled his eyes as he reprimanded himself. Soon, like, very soon thanks to Billy speeding down the highway at ninety, they parked in from Billy’s house. 

“Alright, little shit,” he reached back to briefly pet him, “I forgot I gotta drop off Max at the Wheeler’s for lunch, but I don’t want ya pissin’ in my car so…” 

And that’s how Steve lost the remaining strand of dignity he had, pissing next to a bush while making direct eye contact with Billy until he squirmed under his gaze and looked away. It would’ve been funny, but Steve was currently dead inside. 

He found himself unceremoniously tossed into the backseat of the Camaro as Billy rolled down his window. “I can’t afford to have you run off again before I get back, so,” Billy fixed him with a hard stare, “lay low and _stay_.” And with that, he shut the door and walked into the house.

‘Yes, because I’ve always been so good at doing what I’m told.’ 

_ No, dad, of course I won’t have parties while you’re gone. I promise not to get high in the house, mom. Yes, Billy, I’ll do whatever you want! Want me to roll over and sit pretty too?_

Not that he had much of a choice but to stay. He couldn’t exactly open the car door or anything, so… Billy is lucky it’s fall and nowhere near hot enough for Steve to die at the hands of neglect and heatstroke. 

Right when Steve was considering if this could be classified as a hostage situation, Billy walked out and slide back into the driver’s, already fiddling with the radio, already putting on obnoxiously loud music. Billy had changed into a clean pair of tight acid wash jeans, a blue button-up that was _not_ buttoned up, and his hair was pristine as ever. He smelled like he had taken a shower, smelled like citrus. And Steve has never hated Billy more. He was still slightly caked with mud and was in desperate need of a shower — bath? Whatever. Billy stuck his head out of the window, laying on the horn as he yelled for his sister, sorry, _step-sister_, and steve wondered what she would think of the strange dog that rode shotgun all night yesterday. Then it became clearly apparent that she wouldn’t have the chance to know because Billy was reaching back again and covering him with a spare blanket. “I swear to god if she sees you…” He let the threat trail off. 

He heard the car door open and slam shut before the music from the radio was turned up. And Steve had tried, okay? But he couldn’t really breathe under the blanket and also it kinda smells like feet, so really, he had no choice and emerged from under the blanket to avoid suffocation. Which was fine because Max didn’t even notice him. 

“Why does your car smell like dog?” 

‘Thanks Maxine.’

“Probably ‘cause you’re here,” Billy replied in a mockingly sweet voice. 

“You’re such an asshole.” It was mumbled lightly, probably not meant to be heard.

Billy turned and leaned into her face, his expression cruel and familiar in the way that Steve hated. “And you’re a fucking bitch.” 

‘Okay, Billy, that’s enough.’ Steve growled at him lowly causing Max to whip around all wide-eyed and Billy to stare ahead very pointedly trying to ignore him. 

“Billy, why is there a dog in your car?” She was staring at Steve staring at her. 

“What dog?” His voice feigning innocence and obliviousness. Steve and Max both turned to look at him with matching expressions.

‘Really?’

“Really?” Max punched him in the arm and Billy swerved and Steve started reciting what he remembered from a prayer to ensure their safe journey, clearly being the only one keeping them from death at this point. “I’m allergic to dogs! And who’s dog even _is_ that.”

‘I can’t affect your allergies, Max, I’m fucking magical.’ Not that he could tell her that anyways. He resigned himself to just rolling his eyes. 

“I don’t see you being allergic.”

“That doesn’t answer my question — ”

“What the fuck do you want from me, Max. Fuck — Okay — he’s some stray I found when Neil kicked me out. Does that satisfy your curiosity? If you keep talking you’ll have to skate the rest of the way.”

“I didn’t bring my skateboard — “

“Then you’ll walk.”

And that was that. There was only the steady stream of metal music that Steve could not for the life of him name and the rest was silent. Billy seemed to relax back into the seat. 

It only lasted a few minutes.

“Okay, but what are you even doing with him — “

“_Oh my God!_”

“ — like, what if he has fleas or something…”  
He tuned the rest of their bickering out; their yelling combined with the loud music was seriously starting to affect his sensitive ears.

Steve thanked god that he was an only child.

——— 

“Will Harrington be there?” Billy had parked in front of the Wheeler’s house. He saw Dustin’s bike tossed on the side along a couple of others. He was at that age where he was feeling “rebellious” and bothering Steve for rides less and less, becoming more independent. 

_No, I don’t need a ride, Steve, I’ll just ride my bike there. It’s like, not even that far. Yes, I’m sure. I promise I’ll wear a sweater. Stop mothering me, Steve._

Steve huffed. He there was a fat chance of Dustin keeping is promises to bundle up. Dustin never wears his sweater. And it’s not like Steve cares that Dustin isn’t hanging out with much anymore. His fridge is definitely thankful and he has other friends, too — Robin is a delight and not nearly as annoying. No, he doesn’t care _at all_.

‘Don’t count on it, Hargrove.’ Steve mentally replies to Billy.

Max had given Billy a curious look when he retrieves Steve from the back seat and started walking with her to the front door.

“Maybe? Mike’s mom is here, so we don’t exactly need a babysitter… why do you wanna know anyways?” She squinted her eyes up at Billy, suspicion clear on her face. Billy rolled his eyes before setting Steve down on the ground when they reached the door.

“Because if anyone knows where this lil shit came from it’s Harrington. He knows everyone and their mother.” 

‘I’m like, in physical pain right now just hearing this.’ 

“_Oh,_”, Karen opens the door and ran a hand through her hair when she saw Billy, “Max, the other’s are down stairs, go on ahead.” Max disappeared into the house leaving Steve to be traumatized on his own. Billy had leaned on the door, arm hanging over head, as he smiles that lady-killer smile of his. 

‘You’ve got to be kidding me… Nancy’s mom? Really, Hargrove?’ 

“Hey, Karen,” Billy leaned in a bit too close for Steve’s comfort, “I’m sorry to bother you, but I found a dog and I was wondering if you recognized who he may belong to.” 

‘Technically, I belong to you, but I’m my own person _thank you very much_.’

Mrs. Wheeler looked down and her face lit up upon seeing Steve. She bent down to coo over him, lightly scratching Steve’s chin. Steve tolerated it. 

“I can’t say that I do, sorry. I’ll ask around though. My husband was never a dog person...”

He thought that would be the end of it as she stood up again, but Billy hadn’t finished with his flirtation, ensnaring Mrs.Wheeler into a lengthy conversation. Steve saw his chance and lightly crept between their feet, like a ninja, and bolted down to the basement. Any help he could ever hope to obtain was down there.

“What the fuck?” Mike’s face was scrunched up when he saw a tiny dog bounce cautiously down the stairs. Stairs were way more intimidating when you’re a foot tall and have to go down head first. In the basement, Mike, Dustin, Lucas, Max, and Will were sitting around the table playing their nerdy dnd game while El flipped through a magazine. She liked anything that connected her to places and people outside of Hawkins.

“That’s the stray Billy picked up. He must have snuck in,” Max said. She was stuffing her face full of Lays chips. 

Steve stood before them and started whining, barking would catch the unwanted attention of Billy and _Karen_ upstairs. He’ll admit he didn’t have a plan, but I mean like, did he ever? And things have turn out relatively fine every time, so far.

El frowned and got up, ignoring Mike’s screeching (because, yes, it was screeching) about how she shouldn’t get to close and how “what if it has rabies, El!” 

El laid down on her stomach staring at Steve intently, inches away from his face. Out of all the doofuses in the room, his faith was placed solely on El.

“Steve?” She questioned quietly. She was rewarded was a tiny lick to her nose. “Steve.” Her voice was certain and there was a tiny smile on her face. 

There was a silence that fell the room that was quickly broken when everyone started yelling over each other, except for Will who kinda just observed the shit show before making eye contact with Steve and sending him a small reassuring smile. Steve didn’t feel reassured.

“What do you mean ‘Steve’?”

“Billy’s dog?”

“That’s not Billy’s dog! He’s a stray. I told you already—“ 

“Guys! Quiet!” That was Mike standing on a chair as if he needed the extra height. Steve missed being tall… he also missed having a voice. 

“El?” Dustin looked at El questioningly, armed crosses and eyebrow raised in the spitting mirror image of Steve’s ‘Now Explain’ look he had every time he caught them doing something they weren’t supposed to. Like coming home from Scoops Ahoy during the summer earlier than planned and finding them invading his pool.

“It’s Steve,” she turned towards Will, “he’s like us. He’s...” she struggled to remember the word.

Will is witch, occasionally having outbursts of uncontrollable magic, something to be expected of a healthy growing witch. El on the other hand… 

El was someone a bit more special in the supernatural community. Steve couldn’t remember ever hearing about someone like her. She was born with her full powers, not having to come of age like other witches. Also… she wasn’t exactly a witch. She was something like a witch, but something like a familiar too. Which must be the reason she didn’t have a familiar at all, she didn’t need one. She was powerful, but also in full control — control and restraint being one of the main reasons why witches had familiars in the first place. Her power includes telekinesis (uncommon in the supernatural community but highly praised), and though she couldn’t transform like a true familiar, she had mind powers like one. She was something in between. 

“...a familiar? Like Jonathan?” Will asked and got a slight nod from her in return.

Steve found himself being lifted up to come face to face with Dustin, his body stiff as Dustin held him a bit more tightly and shook him slightly. Jesus.

“Steve! Are you in there!” Steve internally cringed at his volume. 

‘Right here, bud.” He barked and wagged his tail. It felt nice to be called his name again and not ‘lil shit’, ‘flea bag’, and ‘buddy’. Dustin looked constipated.

“I thought familiars could communicate through… you know.” 

Dustin towards at Will for answers, ignoring Lucas’ mumbling, “It’s called telepathy, Dustin.”

“Well,” Will shifted in his seat as they all turned their attention to him, “not exactly. He must not be claimed yet.” 

At everyone’s confused silence he continued. Steve sometimes forgot how clueless humans are when it comes to the supernatural. 

“It must be his first transformation. Familiars don’t get their powers right off the bat like we do. When their witch comes of age, they first transform. They have to wait for their witch to recognize and claim them as their own to get their powers and transform back… and even then they don’t get their full powers until they finish the bond with a binding ritual.” Will blushes something furious at the last bit and Steve is reminded in horror what ‘bonding’ actually entailed that he and Billy will do. But that was something for future Steve to worry about. Present Steve, the first time since this shot show started, was glad that he was a dog and had fur to disguise his heating face. 

“Wait. So who’s Steve’s witch? Max didn’t you say that Billy was the one who found him?” Lucas turns to Max. Max’s and Dustin’s mind come to a screeching halt. 

“Steve is Billy’s familiar?”

“My brother isn’t a witch!”

“The first person a familiar encounters after their first transformation will always be their witch. And if you said Billy found him, well,” Will responded, letting his sentence trail off. 

“18,” El said with uncertainty, looking at Will for approval. He nodded. “A witch gets their powers at 18,” she continues more confidently now.

“When was Billy’s birthday, Max?” Mike says and everyone waits, holding their breath. 

Excitement runs through Steve as he watches the nerds slowly figure it out.

“Yesterday. He turned 18, yesterday.”

Steve barks and wags his tail. ‘Bingo! About damn time.’ 

Dustin looks at Steve with a crestfallen face, “You poor bastard.” 

‘You’re telling me.’ 

“But Billy isn’t a witch! There’s never been any, you know,” she gestures vaguely to the air, “witchy things.”

“You’re telling me nothing weird has ever happened? Nothing happened yesterday? Like anything all.” 

She shifts around uncomfortably. “Water from the sink started to flood the kitchen last night when he was washing dishes. I had to shut off the valve outside… and the piping in our old house was always acting weird… bursting and stuff.”

‘So, he’s elemental. Huh.’ Steve confirms his suspicions from the morning to himself, squirming in Dustin’s hands to be let down. He’s quietly proud of his witch being a strong one. 

“Do you think he knows?” 

“If he knew, Steve wouldn’t be stuck like this right now, Lucas.” Dustin places Steve on the floor. 

‘God,’ Steve thinks, ‘Watching them try to figure this out is like watching a dog chase its tail.’ Trying really hard to catch it but never quite getting there.

“Okay, so he doesn’t know Steve is his familiar. Do you think he even knows this ‘stray’ he picked up is his familiar at all.” 

‘Getting warmer.’ Steve growls to let them know it’s a negative.

“Great. Do we just tell him?” Mike looks at Will, their resident supernatural enciclopedia. 

“If he hasn’t figured out that he’s found his familiar, chances are that he doesn’t know he’s a witch.” Will shakes his head, “and we can’t just tell him it’s Steve. We can’t tell him anything that’s not how it works. It’ll upset the natural order of things or something. That’s what mom says…”

Steve looks betrayed. He thought they would help, maybe get Billy to pull his head out of his ass. He whimpers. All he gets are apologetic smiles. He’s not feeling very forgiving.

“So, what? We just leave him like this? Let him get tortured by Max’s psycho brother?” This is why Dustin is his favorite. He just _gets_ it. “Steve has work! He can’t stay like this!” 

And, crap, Steve almost forgot. His boss always gives him a fucked up schedule so he’s nothing in for work until Monday, meaning he has today and tomorrow to sort this out. 

Footsteps come bounding down the stairs, quickly making everyone tense. 

“Max! Have you seen — .” Billy appears instantly taking control of the room with his presence. It’s kind of impressive. Kind of makes Steve feel some type of way that he’s not ready to admit. His eyes instantly find Steve in the room.

“Billy, do you think witches are real — Ow,” Mike smacks Dustin on the back of the head and Billy looks at him with a mixture of confused and pissed. El has that type of look on her face while she stares at Billy, like she’s trying to figure something out.

“Look, I don’t care for your nerd games,” he picks up Steve and he starts to wonder if Billy thinks he can’t use his legs or something (it’s not like Steve wouldn’t follow him wherever goes, but he guesses it’s not like Billy knows that), “I gotta go. Call me when you need a ride, Max.” 

And with that Billy turns and makes his way upstairs. Steve shifts in Billy’s hold to look over his shoulder, trying to send his last attempt of an S.O.S and is only met with El’s sympathetic smile before they all disappear from view.

Traitors, the lot of them. 

—

Downstairs it’s quiet, everyone seems pensive. 

“I know Will said not to say anything, but do you think we should?”

“No,” El shakes her head at them and sits back on the couch, flipping through the rest of the magazine, “He’s not ready. Billy’s not ready.” 

Her voice leaves no room for discussion.

The rest of their day passes by awkwardly, all them them wanting to talk about it, none of them willing to say anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He’s not quiet an elemental Steve but you’re getting there... 
> 
> So I noticed that my links in the previous chapter won’t work and I can’t seem to figure it out so I’ll post the whole link here so you can copy and paste. I’m just not a tech savvy person:/ sorry for the inconvenience.
> 
> https://images.app.goo.gl/sL7AtHdUQvt6VUZy5
> 
> https://images.app.goo.gl/ajRRN7GEy1ssUDLW6
> 
> https://images.app.goo.gl/vokZDCtJAbUkA4hm7


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: don't expect long updates  
also me: heres 11 pages worse of drama
> 
> let me know if you guys would prefer to wait for longer for longer chapters or if you would prefer short chapters and short update times
> 
> my harringrove tumblr: @billy-baby

“Neil and Susan left to Chicago for the weekend so we’ve got the whole place to ourselves.”

If Steve wasn’t currently a … you know — _dog_, he would’ve thought that that was a come on. ‘Hey, babe, my parents aren’t home. Wink wink.’ Steve mocked Billy in his head, grateful for once that he couldn’t actually read his thoughts or he’d most likely be pushed out of the car and into the street, coughing on the dust kicked up from the Camaro’s tires. He’d imagine Billy would say something like ‘Eat my dust, Harrington’ or something equally as stupid because Billy just seems like the type of guy who’d enjoy delivering cheesy one liners. He would stick his hand out the wind to flip Steve the bird and drive off into the sunset, leaving him planted on the road.

The house, when Steve entered, was quiet except for the sound of a dripping faucet and groaning water pipes. He quickly took in the smells and sights of the house, ignoring an instinct to explore and sniff around the unfamiliar territory. The walls were white and taupe, plain and chipping, the living room crowded with weight sets and old furniture. The couches and seats look old and well worn except for the TV that looked relatively new, for colored programing. 

The other thing that Steve was made aware of — more like, felt instinctively that something was off before noticing — was the complete change in Billy’s body language. Billy may have been an asshole but Steve has always appreciative about the swager that was a specific brand of ‘Billy’: long strides in his walk, head head high, movements sure and confident, an unmovable and unforgivingly loud presence. Here, this small house was made to seem bigger, not just from Steve’s newfound height, but because of the way Billy seemed to bend and bow to an unknown stronger presence. His steps were quiet and soft, fingers fidgeting and tapping against his thighs where they hung, his back bent, curling himself inward slightly, trying to make himself small.

This was a man who did not feel at home in his own house. Like something has taken up residency and completely claimed it as its own, filling every room and crack, a looming threat. He knew because he recognized the image reflected in the Byers family, the way they seemed on edge, jumping at sudden sounds like they were restlessly waiting for a monster to come crawling out of the walls, searching and hungry. 

He recognized the image reflected in himself when his dad yelled, loud and bellowing. Recognized it when his parents hosted parties with other important rich people, invading their living spaces. He recognized the restless fingers, _’Please stop fidgeting, Steve’_, the hunched back, _Stand straight. Make a good impression, son_’, the quiet demeanor, _’Go introduce yourself or are we going to have to talk to your behavior later’_...

He acted the same way during those parties. His house a battlefield, engaging in tortuously repetitive conversations where his dad’s work colleagues asked about what he had planned to do after graduation, if he was going to work for his dad. All fake smiles and judging eyes, calculated small talk and trying to secure and accumulate wealth among their own. _Have you met my daughter?_ He’d stick around for as long as he could, doing the little song and dance like his parents wanted them too, and then when he saw the opportunity to slip away unnoticed, weave through the crowd and leave through the backdoor. He hears Tommy’s tauntings in the back of his mind..

_That’s right. Run away, Stevie boy!_

_Run away! Just like you always do._

They ate a late breakfast, Billy heating up leftover chicken for him and setting it on the floor alongside a water dish, heating up the rest of the leftovers for himself. 

“I’m thinking we clean you up after breakfast, make sure you don’t stink up the place. And stay off the couch, yeah? Dad’ll see your hair and he’ll flip his shit. You’re cute and all, but not worth another lesson,” he said through a mouth full of mashed potatoes. Gross. 

‘Billy Hargrove thinks I’m cute.’ Steve ate with a smug grin, as smugly as it was possible for a dog. Oh he couldn’t wait to give him so much shit for it once this whole thing blew over. 

Having Billy Hargrove give him a bath was the most awkward experience he could have ever imagined (hands…_everywhere_). First off, soaking wet fur was _so_ uncomfortable that Steve now understood by dogs always bolt at the slightest implication of a bath ‘cause this was the worst shit ever, worse than stepping in a puddle of water with his socks on — no, this was like being completely inside a sock and then dunked in a pool. Steve whined, making damn sure his displeasure was known.

“Don’t be sure a drama queen, you were starting to smell like shit.” Alright then. He was going to absolutely tear into his shoes once he had the chance. Asshole. 

Second off — does that even make sense? Why is it normal to say ‘first off’ but not ‘second off’. Secondly? Second? Whatever. 

_Secondly_, Billy used some expensive shampoo with ‘Intensive Curl Hydration Formula’ that promised ‘Luscious Luminous and Bouncy Curls’ (he was adding that one to the things Steve will forever give him shit about, right below Billy calling his cute) and it smelled strongly of citrus fruit. Like a lot. Like it was all up in his nose no matter how much he rubbed his paws on it, trying to rub off the scent from his nostrils. He sneezed right onto Billy’s hand. Billy wrinkled his nose in disgust. He deserved it. Steve felt vindicated and at peace.

Thirdly… no wait… No yeah, he’s right.

Thirdly, Blow dryers. They’re so loud and it’s so close to his ear, his sensitive ears mind you... The air ruffling his fur feels kind of nice even though it would’ve been even nicer if the air wasn't hot as hell and Billy wasn’t holding him too tight because Steve kept squirming and wouldn’t listen to his repeated order of “stay”. ‘Not a dog, Hargrove. Not a dog…’ All in all, a horrible experience. But if Steve stared at Billy’s soaked shirt stuck to his skin and contouring all the lines of his muscles? Well, no one needed to know that anyways. A ringing interrupted them mid way through Billy blow drying his fur. 

“Stay put,” he said turning off the blow dryer, already walking away towards the ringing phone in the kitchen. And like hell Steve was going to stay put. He waited for a few seconds before pattering towards the kitchen, briskly walking to catch up right on his ankles like Billy’s tiny shadow. Billy turned to look over his shoulder at him and giving him a stink eye with no real heat. He didn’t say anything though, so Steve took that as a go-ahead. 

He planted his furry ass right next to Billy in an attempt to eavesdrop and looked up at him as he stood by the phone, answering with a rudely tempered, “Hello?” The haughty attitude disappeared when Steve heard the muffled voice on the other end of the line, only making out snips and phrases. Billy’s back straightened, a soldier standing at attention, fingers clenching the phone so tightly Steve though it might break. Billy chose a spot on the wall ahead of him, eyes unwavering and steady, looking at nothing, lost in nothing, standing there with a clenched jaw.

“Yes, dad, I picked her up…Dad — Yes… Yes, Sir, I’m sorry Sir.” Obviously his dad. Seemed like a real hardass by the sounds of it too.

“... Faucet…. Call.... out of your own pocket.” It was easier to understand Mr. Hargrove the louder and angrier his voice got.

“That’s not fair! It’s not my fault this is piece of shit house!”

“...raise your voice at me… call back…. Understood?”

“...sorry, Sir. Yes, Sir.” 

His eyes left their spot on the wall and he slammed the receiver down on its hook and ran a hand over his mouth in a frustrated manner, letting out a series of ‘fuck’s tumble out of his mouth. Steve noticed Billy’s ears get red when he was angry. From his position on the floor, it was easier to see the way he grinded his teeth in his too tight jaw, the way his adams apple bobbed when he swallowed hard, and the way he shifted his stance by bracing his feet on the floor slightly wider. Billy curled his first and slammed the side of it into the wall, the impact landing on the flesh of his palm, sparing his knuckles from bruising and sparing the wall a hole in its plaster.

Steve had to quickly move backwards away from him when he started walking towards the kitchen counter; he seemed to forget that Steve was there under his feet and was dangerously close to trampling him. It was hard to see what it was he was flipping through but from the thickness of it and the glimpses of yellow, he could guess Billy was skimming through the Yellow Pages. He must have found what he was looking for because then he was stomping right back to the phone with the book in hand, inputting the numbers.  
“Hi, I was wondering if you had someone available today to come look at some problems the sink is having…,” Billy gave the person his address, “Billy, Billy Hargrove… Yes, I’m his son. I'm afraid he’s spending the weekend in Chicago, told me to call and get it fixed…Sounds perfect thank you.” And just like that, the conversation was done. 

He followed Billy to a room at a slower pace this time, keeping a bit of a distance to avoid being stepped on by his erratic behavior, barely managing to squeeze through the door before Billy slammed it shut with his foot. He looked around. 

The room was cluttered. There were two windows with open blinds and blueish-green curtains that allows light to enter the room. The afternoon rays reflected off the pale walls, bringing in enough light into the small space. There was a bed in the corner along side a nightstand and lamp, nestled between adjacent windows, with dark blue blankets and light grey plaid bed sheets. Steve took in two posters tapped above it, Metallica ‘Kill ‘Em All’. Steve took in a vanity type set up consisting of a long full length mirror, hair spray, cologne, and other what’s-its on what appeared to be milk crates acting like shelves. There was a poster of a tall blonde woman in a red bikini taped next to an open closet because of course there was. Billy Hargrove Womanizer Extraordinaire. Beer bottles. A Boombox. A dartboard. Cigarette buds. Clothing strewn about haphazardly. The most out-of-place things where the shelves with books, books that looked well worn and loved, their bindings falling apart. 

Billy walked up to a stereo set with large twin speaker and popped in one of the cassettes that were scattered around, turning one of the knobs and raising the volume to deafening levels. Steve was a bit lost. From what he had gathered his dad had told him to get someone to repair some sink, probably called the closest plumbing service to fix it. What Steve couldn’t figure out was why Billy seemed so upset. He was laying quietly on the bed with his shoes on like a barbarian, lighting a cigarette between his lips and staring at the ceiling, blowing smoke up in puffs. 

The bed was low but not low enough for Steve to try to jump on. He considered trying to scratch at the blankets to get Billy’s attention in the off chance that he would pick him up, but everything in him screamed that Billy needed some time to cool off, needed some space. So he looked for the next most comfortable place and pattered towards a pile of dirty socks, t-shirts, and jeans. Steve spun in a small circle until he found the perfect spot to curl up in. It smelled gross, like old sweat and cigarettes, but it also smelled like that scent that Steve was starting to associate with Billy, something specifically _him_. He felt comforted by it, the underlying smell of his cologne, sea breeze, and the citrus shampoo he uses. He closed his eyes and took a nap, his last thought was of how he now smelled a bit like that same citrus shampoo now, how he smelled a bit like Billy.

***

Steve woke up to the absence of the blasting stereos and the fainting smell of cigarettes. A quick peak towards the bed found that Billy had gotten up, the sun from the windows had changed into the dimmer rays of late afternoon. He yawned and stretched, enjoying the pop of his joints as he arched his back and stretched his front paws forward. 

He could hear a commotion in the kitchen, the sound of clanging metal and a stranger's voice drifted in. The door was left opened a crack which allowed him to nudge it further open with his nose and scuttled towards the direction of the voices, still half drowsy with sleep. He rounded the corner and immediately made his way closer to Billy who was counting bills. 

“How much do I owe ya?” The plumber was finishing putting away his tools back in his tool chest and whistled low.

“Let’s say $105, Billy. Neil’s a friend of mine, but that’s as low as I can go.” He must have seen the hesitation in Billy because he quickly went into an explanation. “It was an easy fix, but I had to replace a lot of pipes, son. If they had been tiny fissures and leaks, I could have sealed it with a bit of epoxy, but… the pipes were completely warped and burst. Never seen anything like that, actually.”

“Burst?”

“Yeah. I’ve seen my fair share of burst pipes, but these were damaged beyond anything I’ve seen before. They usually burst during the winter when the water freezes and expands, causing pressure in the pipes, but the temperatures haven’t dropped low enough for that. I went ahead and checked the pressure tanks — see if that may have been straining the pipes — but didn’t find anything unusual. I don’t know what the cause was if I’m being honest, but if you keep having trouble just give me a call. New house dog?” he asked, pointing at Steve with a pencil before placing it behind his ear.

“What — Oh,” Billy looked down to his side at him, “No just dog sitting.” He handed over the wad of twenties with a strained smile.

“I’ll get out of your hair then, kid. Tell Neil I dropped by.”

Billy waved him off as he left, looking at the closed yellow door for a moment before breaking his gaze away.

He recognized that anger in Billy, that dangerous type of anger that meant flying fists and cruel words, but it was subtle, quiet even, a brewing storm picking up wind. He also felt the same static around him, the one that had engulfed the Camaro in the morning, that told him that Billy’s magic was igniting inside him. Voltaic. 

A witch's magic, Steve knew, was most explosive and unpredictable after they came of age, during the time it took to claim and bond with their familiar. Their magic floods through them unrestrained. _’An expanding universe, something so infinite, trying to make its home in something delicately finite…’_ his aunt had told him. 

Like trying to catch lightning in a bottle. 

Like trying to hold the oceans in your hands.

That is why witches have familiars; that is why someone like Jane is so…

He searched through his limited but growing vocabulary, trying to find the perfect word. Dustin has been falling behind in English (_Science has rules, Steve, how am I supposed to be good at English when it doesn’t even follow its own rules!_), so Lucas has taken it upon himself to teach Dustin a few new words a day. And Dustin, of course, shared them with Steve. He shares everything with Steve. 

Unfathomable. That’s the word he was looking for. 

Someone like Jane was _unfathomable_. Even in the supernatural world. Familiars are meant to guide a witch, in every way. They are meant to ground them, ground their magic and contain it. Like dam holding everything together. The longer it took for a familiar and their witch to bond, the more the magic spilled and consumed them. 

Billy turned and walked back to his room, his silence was unnerving, and Steve followed behind him. He knows he has no powers right now, not until he’s claimed, but he’s hoping that at least his presence will help fizzle out some of his temper. Billy was pacing his room, the stereo on high, and Steve was at a loss. How do you comfort someone who you can’t talk to? Steve was never good at words, he’ll admit. He was a tactile person, showed what he couldn’t say through his actions, and it was frustrating not being able to comfort Billy in the way he would have if he was a person. It was frustrating to know that he wouldn’t be able to comfort Billy even if he was a person anyways. Steve, to Billy, was no one. Worse than no one, he hated him. Ain’t that a bitch. 

He tried to get his attention, trying to prompt Billy to hold or pet him, give him something else to focus his mind on, a distraction. But it seemed no matter what he did, Billy was set on ignoring him, or at the very least, his mind was too far away to notice Steve tripping over his feet. 

Billy took out the cassette, the room plunged into an abrupt silence that felt worse than the blasting noise he called music. He bent down to pull out a small shoe box from under it, sifting through it and pulling out a worn down cassette, simply holding it in his hands and running his thumbs over the edges of it. Steve saw his chance to give Billy the perfect distraction, running up and snatching the cassette in between his teeth before he bolted out of the room, hoping he’d give chase.

And a chase he got. Billy was muttering curses at him, increasingly frustrated when Steve would manage to slip between his legs before he could catch him. He didn’t seem to be stuck on whatever had been going through his head since the plumber had left. Steve thought that was good. Thought he was helping. Which only made Billy’s sudden outburst much more jarring.

“_Drop it! Fucking drop it! I said drop it, you fucking mutt!_” His voice was loud, talking it from deep in his lungs.__

_ _Steve’s body froze, locking up his legs, skidding across the kitchen tile slightly from the momentum of his speed. Neither noticed the lights flicker overhead._ _

_ _‘A _mutt_ was the one that made Steve want to cry, made his eyes water and chest ache. It was different, somehow, to the rest of the nicknames. They had been said affectionately, or with a teasing tone. But the way Billy had said it was like he wasn’t worth much. Like he really was a stray. Like he was a nuisance and a bother. _ _

_ _Steve didn’t recognize this Billy, the one that shook from the force of his yelling and the force of his anger. Steve had known Billy’s type of anger as the one he had seen at the Byers. It was a controlled tone of voice, low and threatening, with steady hands and a steady gaze. It was the faux gleeful expression and manic laugh as Steve had punched him. The Billy whose shouting had been almost joyous in his declaration, _Looks like you got some fire in you after all!__ _

_ _No he didn’t recognize this Billy. There wasn’t that face splitting grin or low growl of his voice. This Billy reminded him of his dad. His dad with his loud booming voice that had vibrates Steve’s bones with his anger. His dad with his cutting words that made it clear what he thought of him._ _

_ _A nuisance. A bother._ _

_ __I know you and your friends have been out drinking and don’t give me that shit that it’s only one beer. You think I’m an idiot? You think I don’t hear about all these little parties you throw with your friends. Do you want to be a screw up? A screw up like your mother, always able to polish of the bottom of a bottle. You need to get your act together, you hear me?_ _ _

_ _He always yelled during his lectures, like Steve was too stupid to understand and the louder he was the more he’d get through to him. There were countless times where he couldn’t stay until the end of his dad’s monologue. Walking out on his dad, catching a muttering of words before he left._ _

_ _ _A fucking disgrace._ _ _

_ _Steve must not have dropped the cassette, didn’t have the mind to, because Billy was yelling at him again._ _

_ _“Drop. It.” You could hear the pipes groan and wail in the walls._ _

_ _Steve’s jaw went slack and the tape clattered to the ground. Billy took a couple steps forward and Steve took a couple steps back trying to put enough distance between the two of them until he was crouched in the corner._ _

_ _ _That’s right, Harrington, run away._ _ _

_ _Steve knew Tommy was right, he had spent his whole life running away from problems. Always running away from everything, and it wasn’t until Nancy that he had learned to stand his ground, plant his feet. Most of the time he was more bark than bite but by god he wasn’t afraid to use his teeth when pushed into a corner. _ _

_ _Billy stepped closer and Steve growled, baring his teeth. Billy looked at him with wide eyes and parted hips, a look of shock. He bent down slowly, projecting his moments to Steve, a mirror image of the way he had approached Steve yesterday night, a night that seemed so long ago now. He picked up the cassette tape gently, standing straight again and holding it to his chest right over his pendant. Steve noticed his solemn expression, his eyes brimming with tears. It threw Steve in a loop._ _

_ _Billy licked his lips, his brows dipping and face contorting into the one that suggested he was trying to keep it together. “I’m sorry.” It came out like a strangled whisper. And then he was gone. _ _

_ _He stayed like that for a while, in the corner of the kitchen staring off in the direction that Billy had left. _ _

_ _Steve had been known for running away from everything… but what if he had been running towards something the whole time. And he had only reached it yesterday night when it came to him for once, in a roaring Camaro. _ _

_ _He made the decision to follow Billy, glad that the door had been left open enough for him to enter his room. Billy sat cross legged on the floor with a cigarette between his lips nearing its end, leaning against the shelves that propped up the stereo. He had the shoe box opened next to him, the cassette still in one hand, the other swiping at the tear tracks under his. He crept closer until he could sit beside him, looking up into those stormy eyes that softened when they locked on his, a soft smile tugging at his lips._ _

_ _“It… My mom left me this tape. It’s filled with some of her favorite songs, one of the only ones she didn’t take when she left.” And boy did Steve feel like an asshole. He didn’t _know_ but still. He dragged his sleeve under his nose and Steve leaned his head on Billy’s thigh, letting out a deep breath of relief when Billy scratches at his ears. _ _

_ _“I’m sorry… I promise I won’t yell at you again,” he said, like he somehow knew that’s what had set him off, what made him bare his teeth. He promised him and Steve believed him. He pulled out a stack of photos that were bent and fading at the corners. He tilted one photo in Steve’s direction. It was one of a woman and a small boy who bore a striking resemblance to each other. The woman was pretty with medium length blond hair, blue-blue eyes the same as Billy’s. In her lap was the boy sitting in her lap and smiling at the camera, the same cheeky smile that was so fitting on his face. He looked happy, happier than he had ever seen him. _ _

_ _“That’s her,” he tapped at her image, “I must have been four or five and we were at one of her gigs. She used to sign at coffee shops and bars, she was good at it too. When she sang you couldn’t help but listen, it was like being under a spell. Nothing existed except you and her song. She used to sing me to sleep. Sang about the oceans and fairies and gnomes and guardians and magic… It always worked no matter how much energy I had.” He chuckled softly and shook his head._ _

_ _“I have no idea how she did it… my old man— he didn’t like it when she sang. I don’t know why but it’s probably cuz she pulled in more money than his steady job. He’s always been kind of an ass,” he reached back to snubbed the cigarette bud on a plate that laid on the shelf, “sometimes after she’d sing me to sleep I would wake up to yelling in the living room. My dad is pretty religious — I mean so was my mom, but… my dad he has that old tradition mentality when it comes to religion. That Christian crusader bullshit. My mom was all about acceptance and love thy neighbor or whatever. But my dad… _ _

_ _I’d wake up and he’d be yelling at her about how he’s doing God’s work, beating the devil out of us. He’d say ‘I have a responsibility to God and that boy’. Said he was leading us away from the devil’s teachings. That was his favorite thing to accuse my mom of. Always calling her a Satan worshiper, Devil’s whore, witch. Like he was going to lead us to salvation, how she was lucky that my soul hadn’t been damned like hers…” _ _

_ _Steve crawled over his thigh and situated himself in the space between his legs, giving him a more comfortable view of the photo. Billy rubbed a thumb over his mom's pendant, that area of the photo had been a bit more faded. It was the same pendant that Billy always wore around his neck._ _

_ _“She wasn’t a saint, ya know? She wasn’t perfect. Sometimes she’d get drunk and tell me things I shouldn’t know. She’d always talk about some guy, some guy before my dad had come along. Always talked about how perfect he was, how much she loved him, how she wishes he could’ve been my father. She’d always say how much I would’ve liked him. How unfair it was that he was taken from her — a car crash I think. And sometimes I wished she could’ve stayed with him and never met my dad, that even if that met I didn’t exist, that she would be happy. _ _

_ _She didn’t talk about him like how people talk about their dead boyfriend or husband. It… it was like she was talking about a part of herself — like losing him she lost a part of herself too. Made me believe that maybe soulmates existed but… I don’t know it’s crazy, but like someone out their could be made for me and I’m made for them and we’ll get together in that perfect way that she described._ _

_ _“She left these photos but I guess she took the album with her. I spent forever looking for that album after she left but all I found was this lace of ribbon she used to tie it close,” he held up a pale pink ribbon that was slightly unraveling at the end, “I know it’s weird that I kept it but I can’t bring myself to get rid of it. I kept the car, a cassette, and her necklace — Oh yeah and this shit. I’ve never been able to open it though.” _ _

_ _He tied the stack of photos with the pink ribbon to keep them neatly together and put them back in the shoe box, not bothering to look at the rest of them, and took out a wooden box that rattled with something inside it. He couldn’t see any grooves to open it, but it had an engraving on the top. He didn’t know what it meant but Nancy might. Outside the sun hid behind some storm clouds and the room dimmed. Billy turned and put the cassette into the stereo, lowering the volume so the first song was playing in the background and not filling up the whole room._ _

_ _ _If the sun refused to shine   
I would still be loving you_ _ _

_ _Billy groaned and stood up, leaving everything on the floor and bringing Steve along for the ride. _ _

_ _ _When mountains crumble to the sea  
There will still be you and me_ _ _

_ _Steve felt weird, guilty. He felt like he was deceiving him even though it wasn’t intentional. The things Billy was telling him weren’t meant for his ears. Billy’s vulnerability wasn’t meant for him to see. He didn’t know it was Steve he was showing his treasures to. Guilty._ _

_ _The sound of water droplets hitting the window accompanied them in the room. Steve didn’t remember hearing about a storm in the week’s forecast._ _

_ _ _Little drops of rain whisper of the pain   
Tears of loves lost in the days gone by_ _ _

_ _He laid down on the bed and placed Steve on his chest. Steve could feel his heart beat beneath him, felt the rise and fall of his chest. _ _

_ _“I don’t want to be like my dad. I’ve been doing odd jobs here and there, saving up to go back to California and just get the hell out of here. I had to pay the plumber with my own money and, fuck, it doesn’t seem like much but it’s gonna set me back. ” _ _

_ _Steve knew a bit about that. Had been becoming his own dad before Nancy and the demogorgons came along. He thought about Billy leaving for California, wondered if he would stay, or would leave him behind once he knew about Steve. Steve wondered if he would follow him to California. _ _

_ _‘I would follow him anywhere,’ he thought. And wasn’t that a terrifying thought._ _

_ _“I almost killed a guy the last time I got into a fight.” _ _

_ _Steve perked up. ‘Could he be talking about…’ _ _

_ _“I just — I got so angry and he was there and I was looking for a fight. He’s a bit of a pretty boy, ya know?”_ _

_ _This was the worst apology he’s ever heard. Not that it was meant to be an apology. Not that it was meant for Steve. He huffed loudly in disbelief._ _

_ _“You’re literally the only dog I’ve met that has an attitude, you know that?” Billy chuckles and pet him under the ears. _ _

_ _“But he is, I swear. Pretty boy can fight, has a bit of a swing,” Steve preened, “but he can’t take a hit for shit. One hit and he went down like a sack of bricks.”_ _

_ _‘Unbelievable. Do I need to remind you that you smashed a plate on my head, Hargrove? You clearly cheated.’_ _

_ _“You know, Max will probably call soon. We need to pick her up soon.”_ _

_ _Yet neither of them moved from their spot._ _

_ _‘We can stay here… for just a while longer.’_ _

_ _ _And so today, my world it smiles   
Your hand in mine, we walk the miles_ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -$105 dollars in todays money (adjusted for inflation) is around 250 bucks  
-Ending Song:  
Track One: Led Zeppelin Thank You 
> 
> Songs on Billy’s Mom’s Cassette 1967-1975  
Led Zeppelin-Thank You :1969  
Creedence Clearwater Revival-Have You Seen The Rain :1970  
The Beatles-Strawberry Fields Forever :1967  
Led Zeppelin-Going To California :1971  
The Beatles-Don't Let Me Down :1969  
The Mama's and the Papa's-California Dreamin' 1968  
The Rolling Stones-She's A Rainbow :1967  
Led Zeppelin-Babe I'm Gonna Leave You 1969  
Cream-Sunshine of Your Love :1967
> 
> Since the only thing we know about Steve's dad is that he's an "A Grade Asshole", I took the liberty to base his character around the dialogue of Season 1 Steve vs Johnathan fight 9s1 ep7). Billy's behavior seems to be parroted and mirroring his own father so I thought maybe it would make sense if Steve's did too. you know the whole fear of becoming their parents and in this case more specifically their dad.  
Also I threw in that he's very against drinking cuz Steve seemed really adamant about his dad not finding out he was drinking during the whole police questioning Barbra's disappearance.  
During the fight with Steve and Tommy, tommy tells him to runaway like he always does so I included that here too (s1 ep7). He stopped running away when he went back in the byers house help Jonathan and Nancy and beat the shit out of the monster (s1 ep 8)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Track 2: Creedence Clearwater Revival- Have You Seen The Rain?
> 
> _Have you ever seen the rain_  
Comin' down on a sunny day?  
Yesterday and days before  
Sun is cold and rain is hard  
I know been that way for all my time  
'Til forever, on it goes  
Through the circle, fast and slow,  
I know it can't stop, I wonder
> 
> _I want to know_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really unusually short chapter Ik  
I’ve completely rewritten this chapter 3 times  
Ik if I don’t post what little I have I’ll just end up deleting this one to so  
I’m really sorry this chapter sucks but I’m trying to break through a writers block right now pls forgive me

When Billy had arrived to pick up Max from the Wheelers, the light rain showers had turned into a full blown out storm. Steve was talking about how it was absolutely raining cats and dogs out there. The house would light up with lightning flashes, windows and wood would creak from the force of the winds. 

Max had dumped her _soaking_ coat on the couch and Steve desperately wanted to tell her to take it off before the water seeped into the fabric of the couch. The kids were always leaving their things everywhere, with no regard for their surroundings. It wasn’t even that they didn’t know any better. They were 14, they were capable of picking up after themselves. And yes, Steve realized how much he sounded like a nagging mother, but anyone would after spending so much time babysitting the disasters and hosting their movie nights. 

He lost count how many times Dustin kicked his shoes off in the mud room or the house, leaving them there for Steve to trip over. Or how his mother’s beloved coffee table, imported for Italy, now bore water rings because Lucas _never_ seemed to be able to remember to use a coaster for his cups. There was a giant grape juice stain on the once pristine white carpet, courtesy of Mike and his habit of leaving his cups too close to the table edge, and the only reason his mom hadn’t found it yet was because Steve had covered it up with a smaller more stylish rug that she said “accentuated the decor the room nicely” and hadn’t moved it. Oh. And there is also a giant mark of Doritos dust on one of the couch cushions because Max had accidentally sat on a bag and popped it. He had flipped over the couch cushion to hide _that_ one. Will and Jane were absolute angels in comparison. And yeah, he was always peeves when it happened, but it made the house seem inhabited, like there were actual people passing through. Lived in. Not that he would ever admit it out loud.

So no, Steve couldn’t tell her to take her coat and hang it elsewhere, so instead he reached for it on his hind legs to get a hold of the sleeve between his teeth and dragged it until he could dump it at her feet. He growled slightly to get his meaning across and she rolled her eyes at him, whispering an annoyed “Okay, _mom_” and hung it next to the door on the coat rack. Where it belonged. Billy had watched the interaction with a curious gaze before heating up canned soup on the stove.

Max briefly smiled at him in acknowledgment and disappeared into her room with a dinner plate, awkwardly waving and mouthing ‘Good luck’ before closing the door. Billy, after feeding him bits of chopped up ham (which Steve _guesses_ is better than having Billy feed him actual dog food, thank god for small mercies) had fixed himself his own plate and had dinner in his room. 

Steve wondered if Billy ever took the time to slow down and smell the roses and all that bullshit. He was sitting on the floor, spooning mouthfuls of hot Campbell's soup into his mouth with his left hand, barely blowing on it to cool it and dealing with a mouthful of burning broth, and holding a book in his right, his fingers were always thumbing the corners of the pages as if he was impatient to turn the page. The radio was playing, quieter than the volume Billy likes his music at in the Camaro, but still, like, _really_ loud. 

And Steve gets it, he himself does not like to sit in silence, especially in a house that was more vacant than not. He didn’t like sitting still either, not before the Upside Down and definitely not after, always bouncing on the heels of his feet, ready to act in case of a threat. But with Billy it seemed like he was in constant motion, constantly craving stimulation, turning up the radio to ear deafening volumes and fiddling with an unlit cigarette between his fingers. Chewing on pencils and pens when he had been in Steve’s senior English class (not to say that Steve made it a habit to watch him because that would be weird and obsessive and what else was he supposed to do in that class? Take notes? Sure). Being around him overloaded his senses.

The only time he was completely still was when he was sleeping, Steve noted laying at the foot of the bed by Billy’s legs. Billy had left his bowl on the floor, something that made Steve huff in annoyance, and crawled into bed with his book. He had fallen asleep reading, his book lying on his chest and the lamp light left on. It’s a bit unnerving, he thinks, doesn’t know if he’ll ever get used to seeing him so still and relaxed. There was still the split lip from yesterday night when they had been at the quarry, but the swelling had gone down, the redness on his cheek seemed a tad less angry. 

Steve drifted off.

He awoke to a bright flash of light that casted Erie shadows followed by loud clashes of thunder. The storm still raging outside the window, bending trees to the will of the wind. He was about to drift off again when he heard an insistent dripping. He immediately thought it was a faucet or a leaking roof, but it sounded from within the room. And now that he was more awake he could feel that tell tale sign of static air, like the moment before lightning hits, that came with Billy’s magic. 

He sniffed the air. ‘Salt,’ he thought. 

In the dim glow of the reading lamp he saw tiny streams of water dripping down the four walls of the room, collecting in a slow growing puddle on the floor. That was definitely not a leaky roof.

Steve jumped on Billy’s chest licking at his chin, “dammit, Billy, wake up!” Waking him up has stopped the last occurance, so it was worth a try to avoid flooding the house. He was barking now, and Billy groaned, eyes fluttering open when the door slammed open. A barefoot Max stood in the doorway.

“What the hell, shitbird—,“ 

“The house… it’s flooding with water.”

“What?” 

“The walls…”

He let out a series of curses and squinted through sleep hazed eyes and sat up. He ran his fingers along the streams of water on the wall by the bed and the water followed down the curve his finger and arm, diverging from their previous path. 

It was different this time, different then when they had slept in the Camaro. That time, when Billy had woken up, his magic had immediately stopped. The dew drops had fell from their orbit. Just like that. But now, Billy was wide awake looking at the still growing waterfalls on the walls with a mix of awe and confusion. With recognition.

Steve jumped down from the bed, his paws making a light splash. Water was spreading quickly across the floor. The lamp light flickered before it died and it smelled like something burning. A burnt out bulb. They were caught in the dark.

“Shit the outlets — Max you need to put your shoes on. Right now. Move!” He grabbed her arm roughly when she didn’t and hauled her to her room, her feet barley sliding across the tile as she tripped to get a better footing and Steve traveled close behind. The hallway walls were also running with water, streams bending around the picture frames that hung on them. 

“Ow, Billy. What…” 

He picked up her shoes from the floor and shoved them to her chest. “On,” he growled low, “I don’t know were all this fucking water is coming from but we need to leave before it reaches a cable or we’re dead you got it?” 

Steve winced. Death by electrocution would be a stupid way to die after all the shit he had lived through. That’s like, surviving a freak bear attack then dying by slipping on a banana peel. 

There was a loud popping noise coming from the kitchen, like an exploding bulb, just as Max slipped on her shoes. Billy flinched at the sound and it seemed like he was done waiting for her, grabbing the back of her shirt in a clenched fists to move her along and hauling ass out the door. Steve was having trouble keeping up with his shorter legs, having to go through water that was slowing him down. The tiny streams flowed thicker now, and the water completely covered his paw, steadily climbing. 

“Wait! We forgot Steve.” Max yelled just as Steve made it out the door.

“Steve? What are you—” he noticed Steve walking briskly up to them, the strong winds were blowing him slightly sideways as he jogged, “—did you just? Don’t call my dog Steve.” 

He let go of Max’s shirt to pick him up and unlock the car door. “And get in.” 

They drove for a bit in complete silence, Steve in Billy’s lap, drenched from rain. He was starting to smell like wet dog, which was horrible because he had literally just had a bath earlier in the day..

“What the hell was that,” Billy asked, more to himself than to anybody else.

“Where are we going?” 

Billy clenched the wheel with white knuckles and pulled off to the side of the road, windshield wipers working furiously to clear their visibility and headlights illuminating only a few feet in front of them. “I— I don’t know. This, um, fuck. This isn’t exactly the first time this has happened.” 

Steve perked his ears up waiting for Billy to continue.

“When I was young, the night before my mom left,” his breath was coming out in a shaky manner, “my dad and her got into this nasty fight, ya know? It was… it was worse than the other times. I tried to get in the middle of it, but I only made it worse. I— I remember yelling at Neil and then…my skin lit up briefly. Like my veins. It was like electricity was running through my blood and I thought I was dying or some bullshit. I don’t know how to explain it. And my dad looked scared. I’d never seen him like that before. He sent me to my room when it was over and I was crying like hell, I didn’t understand what had happened, but I could hear him accusing my mom, like she was the reason that happened, could hear him hit her and called her Devil whore. Then the next morning she was just gone. All he said was that I didn’t have to see her again like that was supposed to comfort me or something, but we didn’t talk about the rest of it, about what happened to me. So I figured I made half of that shit up in my head but… 

I… god I’m gonna sound crazy, Max but what if — what if it’s me? That’s doing this? I know, I know it makes no sense. But. Sometimes I feel like there’s something inside me and it pushes against my skin in waves and I… I feel like I’m drowning in it. My ears start rushing with blood and then _things_ happen. Like somehow all of this is my fault, like the stupid faucet is my fault, like my dad is right and there’s something wrong with my mom and I.”

He licked his lips and his hand encircled his fingers around his pendant protectively, “What if I’m a monster…” 

Steve has seen his fair share of terrors and monsters in the world, enough to know that Billy was not one of them. He wasn’t evil, he didn’t hurt for the sake of hurting others, not like those _things_ that fed off terror and death. He wasn’t like Jane’s Papa, a man who was so evil he might as well have come from the Upside Down. Billy wasn’t like him either. He was so caring and sensitive, even if it was buried beneath thick layers of defensive walls and anger. A truly callous person didn’t pick up strays from the streets, they didn’t feed them or bathe them, and they certainly didn’t keep memories of their mother under the bed in shoe boxes, hidden and safe and treasured.

“So what?” Max sounded angry and frustrated. “What if you did? What, you think a bit of water and few magic tricks make you a monster? I’ve seen monsters, Billy, and yeah you’re a goddamn asshole most of the time, but you’re definitely not a monster. Stupid pricks like Neil are monsters. Stupid flowers with teeth from different dimensions are monsters,” Billy snorted in disbelief, “but this doesn’t make you one. What if…What if I told you there are other people like you? Right here in Hawkins. That they can do things like you?” 

Steve studied Billy closely, his purses lips and down cast eyes, his damp hair slowly dripping drops onto Steve. 

“You believe me?” And Steve wondered if he had told anyone else about that night. He wondered if they called him a liar, called him crazy or wrote him off.

Max nodded with a determined look on her face. “Let’s get back on the road. I know where we need to go.”

Billy gave her questioning look.

“Just drive. I’ll tell where to go.” 

And maybe it was a testament of how defeated Billy was, or how much he wanted things to finally make sense, that he shifted the gear and pulled back onto the road without argument. 

Eventually the trees started to look familiar to Steve, even through all the rain making the roads difficult to see, Steve recognize this path.

They were going towards Hoppers cabin. They were going to talk to Jane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to thank you guys for all the comments you’ve been leaving, I know I don’t respond to all of them but I do read them all and I recognize those of you who repeatedly leave comments on my various works so thank you all so so much!! <33 
> 
> Reading them motivates me to keep writing until I break through this writers block instead of just giving up  
But just you wait I’ll kick writers block in the ass


	6. Billy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Track 3  
The Beatles: Strawberry Fields Forever - 1967
> 
> Living is easy with eyes closed  
Misunderstanding all you see  
It's getting hard to be someone  
But it all works out  
It doesn't matter much to me  
...  
Always, no, sometimes think it's me  
But you know I know when it's a dream  
I think, er, no, I mean, er, yes  
But it's all wrong  
That is I think I disagree

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Billy’s pov
> 
> “In it’s life time, a large storm can release energy that is equivalent to 10,000 nuclear bombs.” - _Netflix’s Blue Planet_ Season 1 Ep 1

“Turn here.”

Max pointed to a hidden dirt nook of a road just off the main highway made almost impossible to see with the heavy pelting rain blurring the windshield like a thick dripping blanket. He spared his step-sister a questioning glance before turning on the road that weaved them deeper and deeper into the woods, the thick darkness and foliage swallowing up the Camaro and its passengers. Billy couldn’t help the nervousness that arose up from within him the further they drove. It was a sense of excitement, an impactientness that wiggled under his skin, though he didn’t quite know why. What was it that he was hoping to find at the end of the road — was he hoping to find anything in the first place? The clearing of his confused and foggy mind? Missing puzzle pieces that he had not yet figured that he needed?

It was a bit anticlimactic when he reached the end of it. The road just… stopped. In the middle of nowhere leading to nothing at all with no where else to go. He resisted the urge to grind his teeth. In his lap the flea bag squirmed with a wagging tail, jumping from his lap to Max’s, clawing lightly at the passenger door. He quickly gripped Max’s arm tightly as she made a move to open and exit the car. She jumped at the sudden movement.

“Max — “

“Let go. We gotta walk the rest of the way.” She tugged at her arm uselessly trying to free it.

“If you think we’re going outside in the rain to get lost in the woods then you’ve lost your fucking mind.”

“Look. We’re going to Hopper’s cabin. You know my friend Jane? She can help, Billy.” There was that determined and self assured look in her eye, a deep rooted stubbornness that made her immovable. 

“What the hell does your friend have to do with anything, literally anything?” And maybe he was feeling a little desperate, a little insecure in how much he didn’t know and how much it was apparent that his step-sister did, that it came out as a genuine question. He swallowed down the breath that caught in his throat.

A blinding light shone through the windows, bright beams harsh against his eyes and he squinted up at the looming figure by his window. A tall figure, knocking on his window with a large hand. His heart was racing and his body geared up for a fight. Out in the woods in the middle of the night, in the middle of a storm, with his sister and nothing but his fists against whoever — or whatever, a nonsensical voice reminded him — creeped through the forest. 

He rolled down the window and paid no mind to the rain that pelted through, blown in from the wind and soaking the interior of the car. 

“Chief?” He recognized the man and mentally cursed his hoarse voice, like he had to force the words out through his anxiety. 

“Hey kid,” He had an umbrella opened, however futile it was against the slant falling rain, and another closed in his other hand that also gripped a flashlight that lit the inside of the Camaro, “I don’t know why the hell you’re here but Jane said you were coming. You gonna get out of the car or just stay here like sitting ducks?” 

He didn't know much about Max’s friend besides the handful of times he’s seen her when he drove Max to and fro; he just knew that she was quiet and had large wide eyes that seemed like bottomless pits of curiosity that took in every aspect that the world had to offer, as if she was seeing it for the first time. He didn’t know how she knew they were here — when did Max even have the time call? He racked his brain. She didn’t. She couldn't have.

Chief Hopper cleared his throat and passed the spare umbrella through the window. It was small and compact, barely big enough for one person. He took it and passed it to Max as she was already climbing out of the car with the dog in hand. She fumbled slightly to open it one handed.

“I’m sorry, Chief, for dropping by unexpectedly.” He hesitated slightly, wondering how truthful he should be, how truthful he could be with him. “Truth be told, I didn’t know we were coming to stop by either.” Truth it was then, though he guessed the more truth there were in his words, the more he’d receive in return. The Chief just grunted in reply and he suppressed a flinch at the frustration in it. 

“Come on, kid. I’m sure your freezing your nuts off.” 

They tracked through the woods right behind Hopper, matching him step by step, practically stepping in his footprints per his order. He made it sound like any miss step would have consequences. They walked for a while, Max clutching the dog under one umbrella and Billy using Hopper’s after he “insisted” (shoved it into Billy’s hands with a gruff and proceeded to ignore the boy’s protests). 

They neared a grubby looking cabin of sorts that braved the storm head on, chipping paint faded and porch slanted as if about to collapse. There was a small porchlight on that served like the beacon of a lighthouse, that spoke of either promises of dry land to sailors lost at sea, or a warning of jagged rocks that promised the death of a ship and its crew. And I’m this instance, Billy couldn’t tell which of either it was. His fingers twitched against the handle of the umbrella, tapping a familiar beat. Hopper muttered under his breath and battled with rattling keys to unlock the door as he and Max closed their umbrellas and shook the excess rain off, now safe from storm under the sanctuary of the porch roof. Billy’s eye caught the movement of a curtain behind the window and met with peering eyes and a joyous smile before they disappear again behind the curtain.

Jane. 

The lock jingled from the other side of the door as Jane opened it for them and let them through. It was warm inside, cozy and welcoming and defrosting their numb fingers, prying at the layer of cold that clingged to their rain damp clothes. They rested the umbrellas by the door wall and Hopper took off his coat to hang on a hook. Max set down the squirming bundle of fur to which Jane bent down to run precarious fingers through the fur. 

“You should stay the night here; I don’t like the idea of you kids driving home in this weather — and I don't want to hear any excuse either,” Hopper said with a pointed look at Billy.

Max and Jane traded looks with Hopper that seemed like it could just as well have been a conversation with words. Hopper looked down at the dog by Jane’s feet and back up to Billy and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Look, I’ll go get some spare blankets for you and your sister. You can have a seat on the couch there, Billy, it’s seen worse than a little water.” A spare glance at the couch proved his words as it was tattered and torn, cigarette burns on its arms and an obviously coffee stain on the cushion.

“Thanks, Sir.” He shifted uncomfortably but didn’t make a move towards the couch until Jane grabbed the sleeve of his wrist and tugged him towards it.

“Max and Jim will get the blankets.” She shot a look down at the dog, “you should go too.” And Billy was only half surprised when the fur ball followed behind the retreating figures until they all disappeared from sight. He had now long understood the intelligence the dog carried. It nagged at his brain with in an insistence.

The couch was old, but it was comfortable and soft in the way things were when they’re so worn. The living room must be what collected most of the heat from the heater because he started to sweat despite his body’s persistent shivering. Jane sat cross legged on the couch with pink bunny slippers on, though he guesses shoes are the least of this couch’s concerns. 

“Will said we shouldn’t say anything because it’s not… traditional,” she began and Billy was already lost on what she was saying, “But you’re like me. We don’t fit tradition.” She smiles like she was telling him a secret. And maybe she was. 

She spoke in a very blunt and matter-of-fact way, maintaining eye contact that sort of intensified her straightforward nature. It was the first time he’s actually interacted with the girl, he realized, and he had always thought she came off as quiet and shy but now… Billy figures her quietness wasn’t out of shyness at all, but out of a reserveness that wasn’t broken unless she thought her words had value or weight. There was a childlike gleam to her eyes that accompanied the curiosity in them, not in a way that suggested innocence and naivety, but rather it spoke of a genuine nature. 

“I… I don’t understand what you mean.” He forced out under his breath. It was like admitting for the first time that he was lost, has been since his mother left and took with her all the warmth and kindness of California with her. 

Jane smiled an empathetic little smile and slowly reached her hand to his face, not unlike how Billy approach the flea bag that night in the quarry. Like _he_ was the small frightened little thing against something much stronger than him. Like _she_ was the large intimidating being capable of hurting him, but promising she wouldn’t with her soft movements. And maybe there _was_ something about her than made him feel smaller than he was and face his vulnerability, a vulnerability that was different than the one he felt when face to face with his dad — an emotional vulnerability, rather.

Her fingers ghosted across his split lip and then lightly traced his ripened cheek, a reminder of what marked his face, like her touches could heal the hurt there. Billy wishes they could. He felt ashamed of the marks, ashamed of the memory of how they got there. Like maybe if he were a better son, a better man, they wouldn’t have been placed there by disciplining fists. And ain’t that a bitch? To feel culpable for his father’s actions. 

_It’s not your fault, you know._ Max’s words drifted from one ear and out the other like empty white noise. She sat on the porch railing swinging her feet and looking across the street at nothing. He smoked his cigarettes and rubbed at the bruises on his wrist left there by one of his father’s moods. _It’s not. Even if you think it is._ They didn’t look at each other, just coexisted in one space like they’ve been forced to do for so many years. _You don’t know shit, Max._ He stomped out cigarette under his foot and Max rolled her eyes.

She pulled away her hand and lifted the sleeve of her shirt, exposing her arm, and twisted it until he could see the underside of her wrist.

011\. Tattooed on her arm.

“Bad Papa.” And that was all she said. That was all she needed to say. His breath caught in his throat and he curled his fists.

“Hopper?” He whispered, afraid of being heard by the man of the house, static filled his ears from the blood rush and a heat that was more than just the heater. 

She shook her head. “He’s not Papa.” 

Billy felt himself relax a bit again. Whoever this Papa was was not the Chief. She was safe. Max was safe. And he was too, in this small unassuming cabin. 

“What… what did you mean by tradition?”

“I’m not supposed to tell you anything. Because it’s tradition. But you need to know.” She turned completely toward him in her seat and reached for the coffee table to grab at a couple of coins that sat there. Pennies and dimes. And presented them to him with an open palm.

“Look,” she said. 

The coins in her hand vibrated slightly before it hovered over her palm, spinning clockwise, hovering higher until they were a good few inches from her hand. She studied him closely. And Billy’s mind was blank, filled with an incomprehension of what he was seeing, the impossibility of it and the more terrifying feeling inside him that felt Knowing and Understanding and easy acceptance of the unbelievably of it all that felt an awful lot like familiarity.

Like recognizing a song that plays overhead in the grocery store that you haven’t heard in years and forgotten everything but it’s melody. A song you didn’t know you knew until you heard it again.

She was the one singing that familiar song with her coins and her empathy and her magic trick. But as hard as he tried to listen he couldn’t make out the words. Like he was listening through a wall that muffled its sound.

His mind finally seemed to process what this was. _But you’re like me._ Her words came back to him. Like him. More than just shared experience of shitty fathers. It was deeper than that. A kinsmanship. A mirror. He saw her now. And saw himself staring back in her eyes.

He all but threw himself back as far as the would couch let him, and when his back hit its arm, he leaped to his feet and stumbled back a few steps. She relaxed her fist, fingers curling inward limply, coins bouncing as the fall onto the cushion. And she waited patiently for him.

“I don’t understand.” He said desperately, but he didn’t know how true those words were anymore. Didn’t know if he believed them anymore. It sounded like a lie, even to his own ears.

_Idontunderstand. Idontunderstand. Idontunderstand._

“You do. You know. It’s all in here,” She tapped lightly at her temple, “You just don’t know how to look.” 

She approached him with a quick and confident strides. No longer hesitant and soft. 

“You don’t want to see. But I can help. Help you look. Help you remember.” 

She raised both her hands to cradle his face and he nodded involuntarily, seeking whatever else she could show him. Her hands felt heavy on his face, and warm. They felt safe and like sleep and he didn’t know when he let his eyelids fall. Miscellaneous memories passed quickly behind his eyes like he was shuffling through moving pictures quickly. 

He caught glimpses of playing Little League, and alphabet soup. 

Of kissing Rodriguez in 5th grade. 

A birthday cake thrown on the floor, ‘Happy Birthday’ barely noticeable anymore. 

His Mom’s homemade Mac and Cheese. 

His dad drunk and yelling. 

Memories of sitting in uncomfortable wooden benches next to his dad in a church with a droning priest, “—and we ask the Lord to shield us from evil and keep the Beast from our homes...” 

His father forcing him and his mother to kneel by the altar and pray to God for forgiveness. 

“Dear Lord forgive me my sins...”

The memories stopped abruptly. Lingered on one he had long forgotten, had been buried unknowingly. One of him and his mother. He was small, baby fat clinging to his cherub cheeks, rosy from a feverish heat. He remembers this clearly, now. It was the fall and he had been sick for sometime. His dad had a fit when he caught his mother brewing him some sort of tea and forced her to take him to the doctor the night before. All they got for that visit was pills to keep the fever down though they weren’t taking effect. 

She had been getting desperate. Staying up all day and night, singing softly to him ease his crying. Finally she had gotten fed up. Had buckled him in the car and drove to the beach that night. 

_You’ll feel better, honey. I promise._ She muttered under her breath like a prayer.

It was cold, and the beach was barren. Not a soul in sight. _Just you and I, honey._ The moon was full and bright, reflecting off the inky black water where it peaked out from behind the rain heavy clouds. She carried him and set him down on the shore where light waves lapped at the sand and tickled his feet making him giggle at their antics. He wiped his snot from his nose on his sleeve, sniffling with a headache, and looked back at his mom. Strawberry blonde and pale against moonlight. She was shivering from the cold and Billy figured he should have been too. But the salty breeze felt nothing but tender and welcoming on his heated skin. He felt himself come alive from the inside. Freezing water was like an old friend where it hugged his ankles before receding back into the sea, taking a bit of his ache with it each time. Wet sand dug between his toes, sticking to him like it was afraid he’d leave.

_Go on, Sea Monkey. I’ll be right here._ She hugged herself with her arms. 

His face spread in a toothy grin too big for his face, mischievous and suddenly full of energy. His headache retreated slowly the further he trotted into the water until it was up to his waist. His stuffy nose cleared, letting in that distinct ocean scent that awaken his ill drowsy mind. In the water he felt free and wild and untethered. 

He wiggled his toes and felt the seashells rise from underneath the sand, tiny precious gifts given to him by the ocean and his fingers itched to pick them up, knowing that if he took them home his dad would just throw them out. He walked along the shore, finding it easier to walk through the water than most people did. Because most people had to push their way through the ocean. 

They didn’t know what it was like to have water part and move around them instead, to welcome them. To feel a part of the waves. They didn’t know how it felt to have tiny fish nibble kisses on their toes happily each time they dipped their feet. They didn’t know how motherly the ocean can be or how alluring the moon was, pulling him as easily as it did with the tides. They didn’t understand that the ocean wasn’t a place or a thing, but living breathing entity that was alive and sentient. Ancient beyond time and ageless. 

But Billy knew. 

Billy had an understanding that many could ever hope to have.

The clouds opened up their gates and rain fell gracefully from its perch. They twirled with the wind, soft and gentle as they returned home to the sea. He felt them land like kisses on his cheek.

He knew that the rain was shy and impish. They were drawn from the skies by the curiosity and need to explore the earth. They liked to wash the people from their sadness, always washed his spilled tears from his face. 

He knew the ocean and her generosity. Gave the sailors her fish and let them float on her back to travel. But man was greedy and liked to take and take and take more than they needed. Man was selfish and self absorbed, sating their own hunger with their catch at the cost of her own creatures going hungry. They forcefully pried the oil from her bones to power their man-made machines. Used her to fight their petty wars on. He knew she had a temper and a limit to her patience, dragged countless ships to her sea bed and destroyed shore settlements in her ill temper.

He knew the lighting was playful. Liked to sing in thundering roars and decorate the sky with their lights like flashing Christmas lights. 

He remembered he spent that night splashing in the waves, sickness long forgotten and chased away. Had cried when his mom insisted they had to go when all he wanted was to stay. He always wanted to stay. Just a little bit longer. Just a few more minutes.

It was like he was finally seeing the big picture. Realized that he had all the puzzle pieces from the start, just didn’t know how to arrange them. But one by one they clicked into place to complete the image and it was colorful and vibrant.

The absent fear of swimming during lightning storms.

His father’s religious righteousness.

The restlessness and vibrating energy that coursed through him when it rained.

His mother’s ankle tattoo of a serpent and her certainty in soulmates. 

Riding seven feet waves, crashing underneath the weight of the waves but never filling his lungs with water.

His mother’s singing and how his dad hated it.

Songs from strange women who never breached the surface of the sea and melted back into the form of water.

His father’s fear when his veins carried lighting like ocean storms.

How he never felt safer than when he was by the ocean. 

How his father looked at him just a few nights ago, like the Devil was in his home. 

His mother’s wistful eyes as she told fantastical stories of shifters and magic and witches. How she told him that his connection with the sea was _special, Billy. And don’t you ever ignore your instincts, Sea Monkey. Let yourself be guided by those tiny feelings._

Things that were never hidden in the first place, but were right under his nose, and the image he saw felt _right_ — as impossible as it seemed — he knew it was right. 

His hands came up to lightly touch Jane’s wrists as she pulled away, needed to touch something to ground him to Here and Now as his consciousness slipped away from Home and back into the cabin. Back into the middle of a storm. 

Something has always been growing inside of him, he figured. The same thing that this girl in front of him and his mom harbored. The same that existed inside of himself, that thing that made his mother’s voice sweet and spell-like, the thing that made Jane move things without touching them and allowed her pick and pull at memories. 

The same thing that made water pipes shake in his anger and fingers spark like a fuse. The same thing that made him an agile surfer and pull tides to his feet like a magnet. He’s been harboring this — this _thing_ and allowed it to fester in his gut. 

“What am I? What… what are…” 

He was sweating. To hot. His lungs struggled to intake oxygen and was breathing faster now, trying desperately to take in more air. He was dying. Was this what if felt like to drown? The house was unbearably warm and Jane’s wrists felt like a hot iron in his hands. He dropped them like they burned.

A monster.

It must be.

Maybe his father was right all along.

Maybe all those prayers kept it bay, kept it from swallowing everything whole — this wild and untamable thing that stretched his skin and itched to get out.

Maybe he had the Devil inside himself, brought it into his home just like his father so much feared. 

And he thought about the times his dad had refused to take him to the beach like the other families always did in the summers. He thought about how his mother would sneak him out to swim, _If your father asks, well just say we went shopping, you understand Sea Monkey?_ He thought about how his mother’s lullabies were always sang in whispers so his father wouldn’t over hear.

He thought of his mother. 

And the girl in front of him that looked frantic as she called for Max and told him to breathe, just breath Billy.

His mother wasn’t a monster, she couldn’t have been, and neither could this girl. They were kind and gentle and warm like summer. 

Whatever was under their skin was no all consuming monster, it didn’t make them _bad_. 

But his mother was so so strong. And he was nothing like her. Maybe she chained the beast down, in a way that tamed the beast, in a way that he couldn’t do. 

Because he could feel _it_ now, rising from the bottom of his gut. It was thrashing wildly against the barrier at his skin and he wanted it out. He needed to get it out. He had enough of his mind through the blind panic to realize he was scratching and clawing at his own skin, yelling himself hoarse. Blunt nails running down his throat to try to open his airway. To try to breathe. He couldn’t. His nails were running along his arms, trying to free a beast of electric static and salt. 

It was nothing like the warm sunsets and nothing like the calming ocean he remembered. But It was one in the same. Two sides to one coin. It felt nothing like the safety of the sea he felt in his memories.

“—Billy!” 

He was pressed face down on the floor, dripping with sweat, fighting against whatever heavy force was keeping him lying flat and his arms pinned behind his back.

“Listen, kid... Come on now, you gotta come back to us… you need to stop hurting yourself. Can you hear me?” 

Hopper’s voice, though at first muffled, rose to clarity. Billy air gulped desperately, finally feeling like he could breathe, expanding his chest with air.

Not drowning.

He felt the arms release him but he dared not move, kept his eyes shut tight and listening to his own thundering heartbeat. He didn’t want to see anyone, didn’t want to their faces. A wet tongue licked at his cheek with a whine until he managed to sit up against the door. No one dared to say a word or so much as move a muscle. Billy peered down at the dog who looked up with those large expressive eyes at him and there was that insistent familiarity nagging again that he felt each time he stared into them. 

_And don’t you ever ignore your instincts, Sea Monkey. Let yourself be guided by those tiny feelings._ His mother’s voice echoed. 

NoNoNoNo —

“Billy!”

“Don’t—“ 

He heard behind him as he slammed the door opened and staggered outside on unsteady legs. It was raining harder than ever before. He could hardly see through the sheets of rain. And just like that, it stopped. Stopped falling around him, but falling everywhere else. He looked at a dark sky and felt the fear in the rain, so different from their comforting nature, afraid to touch him for the first time.

Something inside him pulled his gaze back to look at the ground where a tiny lap sized dog was braving the rain. 

‘Instincts and feelings’, he thought ‘where on earth are they leading me, Mom?’ 

A feeling of something lost and found. A feeling of loneliness and company. A feeling of an eternal promise. A feeling of the beast restlessly reaching towards the tiny shivering figure that waited silently.

“Steve.” He let out the name by instinct. He wondered if his mom knew about the hurt he would feel from filling her words and letting himself be impulsively dragged through the currents of _instincts_. 

Lightning flashed, bright and hot and blinding, and as quickly as it came, it was gone again. Leaving him with it’s bellowing clash and a boy standing right in front of him, brown hair dripping and brown eyes searching, naked as the day he was born. With no dog in sight. And for the first time since she left, he felt resentment towards his mom.

He couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up in his throat and he threw his head. He realized he must sound hysterical, must look it too, but he was just. Tired. So so tired. Exhausted and hurt. Because of course. The one thing he that felt like his to ke, was ripped away. He felt like a fool. Good things aren’t for people like him.

“_Billy_.” It sounded both like a plea and condemnation.

Billy looked at Steve, really drinking him in, and realized that the thing inside him stilled, momentarily sated and pleased. Steve Harrington. Pale and uncertain as he stood there still as a statue in front of him with begging wide eyes. Billy strode towards him, rain parting where he stepped, until he was standing chest to chest with him, left hand clutched at the boy’s jaw firmly. 

He shuddered at the touch and searched Billy’s eyes with his own but Billy would make sure he didn’t find whatever he was looking for.

“_Billy, please…_,” he whispered.

Molten anger bubbled inside him. He couldn’t stand the humiliation he felt. He didn’t want to be here any longer, didn’t want to even look at Harrington, wishing he could reverse the last few days. And Billy thought a dog was a most fitting form for Steve Harrington. He certainly did beg like a bitch.

“Keep my name out of you mouth, Harrington. And don’t you _ever_ come near me again. You hear me?” He pushed him back hard enough to send him sprawling into the muddy ground. 

He curled into himself and Billy told himself he didn’t care for the way he looked, exposed and vulnerable and pleading, wanting to reach out and protect him from the elements, from himself. He was done with riding the currents and seeing where it would lead — because where had that gotten him? He was done searching and hopelessly following a hope for answers. For the brief moment he thought he understood, finally, he realized now that he didn’t at all. Was more lost now than he had been. A pale trembling hand reached for his own, but without another look back, he walked into the woods.

He guesses that for all it’s worth, at least he knew what slept inside the nooks of his bones. That he needed to chain and bury it and never let it loose.

***

A blanket draped itself over Steve’s shivering wet form, shaking hard enough to chatter his teeth. He didn’t know how long he had sat there, unable to look away from the place where Billy had last disappeared, into the trees and storm, and Steve hopelessly tugged at a tether with his mind to call his witch back to him. His eyes burned with rejection. That’s what that had been, right? It sure did feel like it. He never heard of a witch rejecting their familiar before. But it would be just his luck that he would be the first. Life was funny like that.

“Let’s go inside, kid. I’m not gonna be responsible for having you freeze to death.” Hopper hauled him up by his arm and Steve clutched at the blanket and wrapped it tighter around his body. The mud felt slippery under his bare feet and felt like he was walking on ice, stumbling awkwardly with his long limbs. 

“But Billy — the woods —“ 

“Jane’s got it covered; she’ll nudge him along the way to keep him safe, I promise. But right now your only concern should be getting warm.”

He let himself be dragged inside and shoved into the bathroom with an already running hot spray, let Hopper shove oversized baggy clothes into his arms on the way out. He let Jane ruffle his hair dry with a towel and even let Max roughly untangle his hair with a brush in a thick silence that felt like the calm eye in the middle of a hurricane.

“You’re brother’s kind of an asshole.” He tried to lighten the mood. Max scoffed and painfully tugged at a knot impatiently. 

“Yeah, go figure.” 

He never felt more empty and alone in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried my hand at Billy’s POV idk I tried to make it distinct enough that you could distinguish it from Steve’s. 
> 
> Billy isn’t an elemental witch (elemental witches are specific and limited to one of the elements) but rather he’s an Ocean witch. He has an ocean heart, the reason he is overwhelmed is that imagine taking this chaotic and infinite force of storms and waves and compressing it all to fit inside the mortal body of an 18 year old.


	7. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Led Zeppelin - Going To California
> 
> The sea was red and the sky was grey  
Wondered how tomorrow could ever follow today  
The mountains and the canyons started to tremble and shake  
As the children of the sun began to awake  
Seems that the wrath of the Gods  
Got a punch on the nose and it started to flow  
I think I might be sinking  
Throw me a line if I reach it in time  
I'll meet you up there where the path  
Runs straight and high

Steve was lying on the couch, surrounded by the darkness of the cabin and the sound of its old creaking wood and the girls whispering in the other room, too low to make out any words. He was wide awake, how could he not be, when each time he closed his eyes he saw Billy, panicked screaming in the living room, _I want it out Get it out Get it out_, red scratches from his blunt nails beading with pin pricks of red.

This night didn’t go how it was supposed to — none of this went the way it was supposed to. The moment he saw Billy at the quarry he knew it wasn’t going to, Billy is too erratic and chaotic to follow the beaten path, but he never could have imagined this. He’s heard countless stories of familiars finally getting claimed by their respective witches. They always recounted the event with a dream look. His aunts said it was like becoming something so much bigger than you’ve ever been, becoming part of something more, something so much greater than yourself. _They say your name in a way they’ve never done before, and they’ll say your name again and again like that for all time ever after._

He’s gotten stoned with Jonathan before, and in a lazed haziness asked: _Tell me… what did it feel like?_

Jonathan closed his eyes and licked his lips like he could taste the memory of it, lingering there.

_It’s like, having your mind embraced by the other — warm — and it just wraps you up completely until you can’t make out any borders between the two of you anymore. You feel safe and whole because all you feel is them. All you are is them and all they are is you and you become something entirely new together. It’s like… you suddenly understand the stars and everything and nothing at all. And you know that you will never feel about anyone the way you feel about them. They’re everything._

_Tell me again? Please._

It didn’t feel like that at all when Billy threw himself out of the cabin. The rain had parted around him and Steve followed behind at a distance. A crackling energy surrounding them that made Billy seem like a stranger again, something dangerous. He looked at him, looked at _him_. Saw him in the way Steve was waiting for him to. But in the pit of his stomach he felt dread, as clear as the look on Billy’s eyes. It felt… soon. Too soon. It wasn’t time. This wasn’t supposed to be happening right now. 

But it was.

He felt anger, not from Billy, not from himself, but from the woods and the rain and the sky and the Everything that made up the stars and earth. A misalignment in the universe, branching out from a set Fate, and for the first time Steve felt what it was like to feel true uncertainty. 

_”Steve.”_ It was fearful and tired and the very first time he’s heard Billy call him by his name. 

He didn’t like the way it sounded. It was sudden but not jarring when he felt the rain beat against his bare skin instead of fur and he felt the mud squish between his toes, soft against the tender soles of his feet. He was looking straight into Billy’s eyes with his new found height. 

There was a tether, of sorts, like a string connecting them together, but when he tried to pull and prod at the other presence existing inside of him, it was like knocking into a wall. Like something was stubbornly keeping him out. And he could feel him, feel Billy, because Billy has always been the type to project his emotions, often times explosively so, but trying to reach out towards him, to allow Billy to feel _him_ in return was like talking to a wall, trying to bypass strong iron gates built to keep him out.

_Billy, please._

He sighed and shifted on the couch, pulling the blankets tighter around him and pretended to be asleep when he heard the creaking of an opening door. He wished he could sleep. He was mentally exhausted, pulling and tugging at a tether, wanting to coax Billy to embrace him the way Steve did. _Can you feel me? Could you ever want to feel me with you?_ It was exhausting. Feeling all these things inside you that aren’t yours, that belong to another person, but at the same time belong to you all the same. 

He aches to hear him call him Steve again, wanted to drink his words from his mouth, drink his name from the brim of his lips and let it sit on his tongue until he could memorize the taste of it, let it dissolve in his tongue and consume him.

The thought made him frown and dig his fingers into the blanket. It wasn’t so much the thought itself, but rather the words that formed them. He was never the poetic type, never one romanize things, but the words in his mind felt foreign to him, like, not his own blunt train wreck way of thinking. They felt like someone else’s. 

He wondered if this was an effect of being tethered and claimed by his witch. If this is how Billy formed words into sentences to mirror how deeply he felt about everything, because Steve was starting to feel deeply now, in a way he never did before.

(Is this how deeply Billy feels anger, too?) 

He thought it was beautiful — _he_ was beautiful. And it made him want to cry. He wrapped his hand around the blanket tighter and tried to imagine what it would feel like to have Billy’s fingers slip between his, warm and all encompassing like Jonathan said it would.

He heard footsteps of bare feet on the floor until they stood next to the couch. Only when he felt a pillow hit his legs and hands lift the sheets did he open his eyes. He sniffled. 

“What are you doing, shitbird?”

He didn’t need to have night vision to know that Max was rolling her eyes.

“Shitbird? Oh no, now there’s two of them.” 

Max laid on the couch after shoving his feet to make room, laying her head on the opposite headrest and Steve had to quickly dodge a foot to avoid getting hit in the face as she stretched out. After a while, she settled and broke the silence.

“I had a bad argument with my mom in California — before we moved — and Billy would drop me off at school early and pick me up late. When I complained about it he said if I wanted a ride I’d have to play by his rules, or I could just walk home. I think he did it so I could get out of the house and not be stuck with my mom.

“Sometimes when he had to get the groceries, a couple of years back, he’d buy strawberry ice cream, but I never saw him eat any. Strawberry is my favorite. It always just appeared in the freezer when I was having a bad day. He was different — before everything, before we had to move. He was still an asshole but…”

“Why are you telling me this, Max?”

“Because Billy does things, but it’s never, like, Just ‘Cause. Ya know? When he does things there’s always a reason behind it. I’m not saying it as an excuse — fuck — I don’t know what I’m saying, but I’m just saying… I’m _asking_ you to just try and look beyond his bullshit.” 

He let her words sit in his mind and sink for a while. 

“Hey, Max?”

“Yeah?” Came her sleepy reply.

“Thanks. And don’t swear.”

“Fuck off.”

And despite everything, despite having Max’s smelly feet like, right there, he fell asleep with a slight smile on his face.

***

In the morning Steve’s consciousness drifted, slightly rising from its comfort. He didn’t wake up to the smell of coffee and breakfast, though that would come right after, but to soft murmur of words right next to his ear. 

_... what is it about people that make a woman like I, a woman who shakes the world with the weight of her step, a woman whose voice cause the earth to tremble underfoot, a woman whose thick skin and cold set face shout strength and venom, feel such a profound sense of otherness in a crowd that makes a deep-set remorse for my loud brashness settle inside me…_

Steve’s eyes snapped opened, a hand stretching out quick like a viper’s strike, reaching for for nothing but air. 

A shout. “Billy!” But the man was not there. 

He looked around confused. He could have sworn… his fingers tucked his hair behind his ear. He could have sworn it was Billy. He felt it, he felt the tickle of Billy’s breath beside his ear, he heard his voice right here reading aloud softly.

The smell of coffee and breakfast. 

Max was setting the table while El stood next to Hopper, observing him cook eggs and grilled cheese sandwiches. All of them were trying their best to pretend they didn’t hear him. 

“You drink coffee, kid?” 

“Um, yeah? Yeah.” 

Breakfast was a mess. El kept eyeing his mug of coffee and when Hopper turned his back to the stove he let her steal a sip, watching with amusement as her face twisted in disgust at the bitter liquid, coughing, and then looked at him with eyes of betrayal. He and Max had to have a fork fight for the last bacon strip and even though he won, she ended up stealing his half of a grilled cheese sandwich, licking along the length of the toasted bread before he could snatch it back. 

“You’re disgusting.”

She smirked in victory and took a barbarish bite of cheesy goodness.

After breakfast, he tucked the too long pajama pants into a pair of work boots he borrowed from Hopper, fitting him way to big on his feet, causing him to trip and stumble as he walked to Hopper’s car. The girls piled in the back after he called shotgun. It was a few minutes into the ride when Hopper started fidgeting, opening his mouth a few times before closing it, clearing his throat here in there from an unasked question. Steve decided to take pity on him.

“I heard — I thought I heard him. This morning… when I woke up.” The trees passes in a green blue as he very pointedly tried to not make eye contact with him. “He sounded like he was right next to me, like if I opened my eyes he would be there. I think he was reading or something.” 

He muttered the last part but saw Max perk up through the side mirror. 

“Reading?” Steve hummed.

“Billy likes to read when he gets mad. Usually does it after Neil — he reads to calm himself down… maybe that’s what you heard.” came her response.

“Familiars can sometimes see what their witches see, hear what they think and say,” El said after a beat. The rest of the ride was quiet, only breaking it once they dropped Steve off to say their goodbyes. 

“Can you call me when you get home?” Steve asked Max, the “let me know if he’s okay” went unsaid. 

“Yeah, whatever.” But Max offered a promised smile.

The Harrington residence stood grand and silent as ever, and somehow different in its emptiness. It was almost a wonder to think of it as home when, for the past few days, home had become Billy’s hands. He kicked out the heavy boots in the mudroom with a satisfying thump and made his way to the kitchen, clicking the telephone receiver. It blinked read.

“Seven unread messages. New unread message.”

“Hey honey! The conference is going to last a little longer than usual, but we’ll be home—“

“Message deleted. New unread message.”

“Hey, Steve. We’re a little short staffed today. If you could come in this afternoon please give us a call back—“

“Message deleted. New unread message.”

The next four voicemails were from his manager in various times of urgency and annoyance. The last message was basically him just screaming into the receiver about responsibility and communication and unreliability and “you have 4 days to to turn in your uniform, Harrington!” He deleted that one, too.

He made his way to his bedroom, wanting to take a well deserved nap, maybe sleep through the next decade, but when he opened his bedroom door, he was greeted with the sight of Robin, sitting criss cross on his bed (shoes still on) eating a familiar plate of no doubt stale pizza rolls and flipping through her text book. 

She looked up with a quirked smile. “Well it’s about time, dingus.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was part of a bigger chapter but I decided to break it up because the next chapter is going to be a lot to take in.
> 
> Noticed how the ‘Everything’ is capitalized? Hmm wonder what’s that about...
> 
> Next chapter is Robin’s pov hope y’all are ready


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Track 5   
"Don't Let Me Down" - The Beatles 1969
> 
> Don't let me down, don't let me down  
Don't let me down, don't let me down
> 
> I'm in love for the first time  
Don't you know it's gonna last  
It's a love that lasts forever  
It's a love that had no past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a huge ass thank you to @tazeffect on tumblr for being my beta reader xxx cuz im blind and creative writing is not my strong suit (and yet here I am, writing fanfiction as a hobby. bless.)

The Harrington residence stands empty, and Robin doesn’t even bother to knock. She knows Steve isn’t home, but she knows he will be. Instead, she makes her way around the back where the sliding glass doors were left unlocked and follows the stream of light that pours out from the kitchen, the only room in the whole house that was left with the light on. She rummages through the fridge to find something to eat while she waits. 

She finds uneaten pizza bites in the microwave.

It was safe to say that Harrington is in some deep shit, well maybe more of a scolding, for not showing up or at least answering the phone when their manager called — not keith, the other one. And as much as Melissa blows her short fuse, she can’t really bring herself to stay mad or fire anyone. At least, Robin hopes so. So as long as Harrington shows up to work on Wednesday and begs on his bended knee, he’ll probably be fine (maybe), but that's not why she’s here.

She’s here because when she was a very young girl, still working her way through sentences and developing a sense of the world, she _knew_ things. She knew the quiet Thursday morning she was dropped off school that her mom would get a phone call in the afternoon, that her aunt wouldn’t make it to work that morning, that the universe works in such a way that everything always falls in line the way it was supposed to be, the way it was meant to be. Now. that didn’t mean that she was callous, or apathetic — she kissed her mother a few extra times before entering her class that morning and sat in agony for the inevitable call that would would send her home to her wailing mother — it just meant that she understood life and death and everything in between in a way that no others could or ever hope they can. 

Clock work. 

The fates work like turning gears, precise and calculated, everything happening one after another the way it is supposed to be, the way it always has, the way it always does — two comes after three, the morning after night... But last night she awoke to the stars wailing and the fates unbalanced, a stall in the metaphorical gears as something that was supposed to happen did not happen or vice versa. Something fell out of line and it wasn’t the first time. 

The first time it happened it was about two years ago when the fates and the stars and the Everything that made up the fabric of time and destiny whispered about cracked spaces and gates to worlds of void. Things were falling into place. A girl and a group of friends. A protective mother. A lost boy. And then something happened; among the whispered words of monsters and the supernatural were slivers of gossip. A failed relationship. A failed love. A boy learning the beat of his heart and the lips of intimacy. Steve harrington wasn’t supposed to be at the Byer’s house that night, yet, there he was to be dragged into a world be hadn’t meant to be involved in.

“You know those pizza bites are like, days old right ?” Steve swatted her foot off his sheets until she relented and took her shoes off.

“I’ve seen you eat a stale M&M off the floor don’t act so high and mighty.” Her teeth squeaked and ached as she popped another stale pizza bite into her mouth. Maybe it said something that Steve didn’t bother to defend himself over his gross habits, or that he didn’t chew her out when her shoe left a mark on his blanket, and instead let out a sigh and collapsed on the bed. He curled into himself, uselessly protecting the heart inside him, beating, rather than the heart that would remain exposed, open, and vulnerable. She knew he’d never be able to guard it. Could never bring himself to. Because that is not how it should be, it was not in his nature to.

It was like Nancy Wheeler had cracked Steve wide open, splitting apart the ribs of his chest and exposing the heart beneath it as it beat. And he was unable to stitch it closed again, leaving him exposed and naked and seen. It was like that mask that all adults wear and kids learn to cultivate over time had disintegrated and left the genuine behind. Even when he lies, Robin thought, he tells the truth with his eyes, unable to mask his thoughts or intentions. Nancy, as broken hearted as she left him, made him into something beautiful, Robin thought. Someone beautiful. A someone who learned to empathize and _feel_ enough to follow his heart to the Byer’s, follow his heart off the path of the fates had carved him. 

The Everything hummed with an attached affection. This boy, this wild card capable of tearing apart time and breaking the coding of the world filled it with a reborn curiosity. For once it bent and morphed around an unpredictable force born into magic, watching as the future changed. A young boy who was never meant to escape the other world. A girl who was never meant to survive and live past her pre-teens...

“Come on Dingus, you gonna tell me what happened or will I have to resort to extreme measures to get it out of you? I know something is wrong.”

“Yeah? Well how do you know something’s wrong?”

She smiled a bit smugly, not that Steve could see it. “I know everything.” Not that Steve knew.

Not that anyone would ever know. It was hardwired into her to keep what she is a secret. So many secrets. 

“Nothing’s wrong.” Came the mumbled response and the muscles on his back tensed and trembled.

She curled around him awkwardly, her short stature shielding a much larger man. She wondered if his height was the reason why his head was always in the clouds, filled with fluff. She dug her pointy chin into his shoulder and relished in the way he yelped.

“Alright then, nothing’s wrong. Nothing’s wrong and you’re not wearing… whatever the fuck you’re wearing.”

“It’s Hopper’s.” He tugged at the large shirt and Robin hummed. “I just — I’m an idiot and I don’t know what to do and my head hurts because it’s like my thoughts aren’t even my thoughts. Like my mind isn’t working the way it always does. It’s not supposed to feel this way. I’m not even making sense.”

“Maybe you can start by telling me what happened last night.”

“You know, it’s freaky when you do that. When you just end up knowing somethings wrong — and how’re you always right, too.

“I work in mysterious ways,” she said and wiggled her eyebrows as Steve turned to look at her. He groaned and dug his face back into the pillow.

“I just — I don’t know… I want to talk about it, with you, but I’m technically not supposed to tell you anything…”

Robin snorted, “If anyone can bend the rules, dingus, it’s you.” Her words carried a bit more weight that Steve realized. Robin slid back off him as Steve shifted to lay on his back and stare at the ceiling with his puffy eyes.

“I… what do you know about witches and familiars? Not, like, those comics that Dustin and his nerd squad read — I mean like _real_ witches.”

“My cousin is a witch, ended up marrying her familiar.” She smirked at Steve. It wasn’t a lie, but she knew this would put him at ease, saw the crease between his brows smooth out. When Steve didn’t answer, she decided to give him a push, “What do you know about witches, Steve.”

“Are you…”

“Nope,” she popped, “but I know enough to know about the _Harringtons_.” She all but purred and giggled when Steve tried to smother her with a pillow.

“Oh god, please don’t. You mean you knew this whole time! And you didn’t say anything!” It was more of an accusation rather than a question. And to be fair she did. But there are things, she’s come to learn, that need to be revealed when the time comes. Things that are sensitive and weigh on the futures delicate balance.

“Look — calm down, jesus — I don’t give a shit, Steve. I mean I give a shit about you but this,” she waved her hands in the air, “isn’t really my scene.” 

A huge lie. But in the grand scheme of things, she needed Steve to trust her. And maybe lying was a manipulative way in achieving that, but it wasn’t like she could — is _allowed_ — to say, ‘Hey, yeah, I know pretty much everything ever that the Everything deems important enough that I need to know. And guess what! That apparently includes you! Congratulations!’ She’s meant to be an Observer, meant to be fed knowledge, meant to be used as a tool to steer the boat if it steers too far off course.

“But if this has anything to do with _that_ world of witches and warlocks, then know I understand. I’m in your corner, okay?” Her voice was almost a whisper, soft and coaxing.

“Is your cousin happy? With her familiar?”

“The happiest.” She gauged his reaction, calculating her response. “They aren’t in a fairytale, they still have to deal with all the gross couple bullshit, arguments and compromises, but they’re good for each other. They understand each other in a way that not many people have in relationships.”

“Yeah?”

She smiled, “Yeah. It’s pretty gross, actually. But when one of them is going through a rough patch, or having a hard time, the other is there to help them out and make sense of things. It’s easier to get through the shit the world throws at you when you have someone there right beside you.”

Robin let the silence sit, lightly threaded her fingers through Steve’s hair as he considered her words, and she ended up breaking strands of his hair into three’s to braid it.

“I’m a familiar,” he said in a tiny voice almost like he was testing out the words aloud for the first time, “and Billy is my witch.”

“Oh?” She twirled the strands of his hair until she reached the ends, feeling slightly disappointed when the braid unraveled the moment she let go. “And I’m assuming he knows given that you’re — you know — human and all.”

“El told him, one of Dustin’s weird nerd friends, told him last night. I don’t… I don’t think he knows — knew — that he’s a...” She nodded as she listened, fully familiar with who Eleven is. The girl connected to the other world. The girl such powerful magic that it resonates in the air.

It would make sense, she thought, that the set paths were disturbed last night. To have a force like Eleven dip her fingers in fate and cause it to ripple, to reveal someone’s familiar for them when that familiar is someone like Steve Harrington, a someone with a history of upsetting the balance. She was starting to feel a bit peeved, like a mother watching the young ones wreak havoc outside only to track mud into the house.

“You both know you weren't supposed to _tell_ him, right? That he’s supposed to figure it out on his own?” She wacked his head lightly when he glanced to the side to avoid making eye contact with her. “Things are supposed to happen when — 

“— When the time is right, I know, I know. It’s just, I don’t think he would have. Okay? I can’t spend an eternity on all fours,” Robin snorted and he gave her a dirty look, “and just wait around for him to piece it together.”

“Well, what are you gonna do about it.”

“Huh?”

“What’s done is done, right? You said Billy had no idea about these things, so what are you doing here? Why are you here moping when he’s probably somewhere out there feeling as lost and confused as you are.”

“I’m not lost,” he mumbled, “and he hates me. There are other people out there who can help him figure it out and it’s not… it won’t be me.” Robin couldn’t resist the urge to roll her eyes.

“Really, like who?” She continued when Steve couldn’t respond. “Ok, sure. Maybe you aren’t lost, but you sure as hell are running away.”

Steve flinched at her words and she soften, she didn’t mean to come across as harsh. With Steve, he needs understanding and a gentle push rather than a scolding that will just make him to retract further into himself. Robin pushed herself off the bed, raiding Steve’s closet to toss him clothes that will actually fit him, and proceeded to drag him off the bed by his arms. 

It was shortly after Steve had tugged on his pastel blue polo shirt that the phone downstairs started ringing. Robin trailed behind as he jogged down the stairs, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to subdue the mess atop his head. 

“...What do you mean… Are you sure?” Robin hauled herself up on the counter as she listened into one side of the conversation, swinging her feet and producing a dull thump each time she hit the cupboards below. “Okay — yeah, okay. I’ll… I’ll find him.”

“Max?” She asked while reaching behind her to open a bag of chips that were left on the counter next to her.

Steve nodded and chewed his lip. “She said Billy wasn’t at home when Hopper dropped her off. She thinks he didn’t come home last night.”

“So, what are you still doing here, dingus. Go find him.”

“Fine. But if you don’t hear from me in the next 24 hours, assume he killed me.”

“Whatever.”

She popped a chip into her mouth as Steve ran out the door with his keys. Her stomach churned slightly. Maybe those pizza bites were a day too old.

\---

Somewhere in Hawkins sits a boy forced to grow up too fast under the violence of fists. A boy who only now starts to question who he is. His mind is a jumbled mess, fragments of incomplete thoughts, starting and ending with no way to piece their ends together in a way that makes sense. He tries, holding a well worn book he’s read over and over almost to the point of memorization, to read the letters on the pages. Reading, always something so effortless and enjoyable to him, something that should ease his shaking hands and clear his mind form troublesome thoughts that threaten to pull him apart… reading is difficult.

His eyes scan the pages and he begins at the top of the page and somehow makes it down to the bottom, only to realize that he absorbed nothing, spaced out following a different tangent of thought. The words and letters seem to move in a way they never had before, tricking him. He’s been at it all morning. Been trying to find peace inside a hardcover book only to find that his own thoughts, his own mind, feels like its not his own.

And there, bellow his anxious skin and running through his veins, is the monster he feared was under his bed as a child, only to find it residing within him. He shakes his head again to clear his thoughts. 

Blank slate. 

Start again. 

Top of the page. 

Read.

All the while trying to re enforce the wall keeping the beast out. 

Skipped a line of text.

Bottom of the page.

What did he read?

Start again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there is some confusion:  
Robin is a Seer of sorts but it is ingrained into her to not be able to speak a word of it to anyone. Her job is to intervene how the Everything (some supernatural force that is not quite a god in this world but more of the over all energy of the universe and fate) but leave as small as a footprint as possible. Hence, her lightly pushing steve to seek out billy   
let me know what you thing in the comments xoxo


End file.
